


Brave New World

by Pforte



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Booze comes in many flavours, Chaptered, Developing Relationship, Feelings, M/M, Trust Issues, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pforte/pseuds/Pforte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nasir lives a good life in London. If only his job at a sex shop didn't create false expectations he could be a happy man. As it is, his love life sucks.</p><p>The one with nipple clamps, strawberry margaritas, English weather and too many feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. no point running cause it’s coming your way

**Author's Note:**

> I disclaim ownership of _Spartacus_ the series and Deep Purple's _Stormbringer_ , some lines of which serve as chapter titles. They are so not mine.

Nasir works at a sex shop. He does, it is not just a pick-up line. The shop is called The Spunky Corner and Nasir knows all about butt plugs, condom flavours, anal beads, dildos, cock rings, the latest porn releases and whatnot. It is a good job in a great location – there are worse places to be gay and work than in a sex shop in Soho. Nasir is twenty-three, out and proud, and he should be happy. It’s just that, well, whenever he tells anyone about where he works, they come to the conclusion that he is this extra kinky sex god. He does not mind the last part, but the extra kinky is troubling because Nasir is not. For a good two years he enjoyed the innuendos and tried to live up to expectations. He’s got his exotic looks working for him, too. But when it comes down to it, he would just like to have sex absent expectations of any acrobatics for fucking once. He gives great head, or so he has been told, loves to top and bottom, and he makes an awesome breakfast for when a bloke decides to stay the night. Some do. Since he’s quit college and moved to Soho he had two relationships that deserved the name but the last four months have been fucking bleak. Fucking. Bleak.

Nasir rips open a box with handcuffs and puts them to the side for labelling, sorting them by colour. 

“I want a pair of the black plushy ones,” Naevia says and makes grabby hands. 

Nasir rolls his eyes and hands her a pack. He will most definitely get to hear if Crixus likes them. Naevia has been his flatmate for what feels like forever but have really been fifteen months and Nasir has seen and heard plenty of proof of her bisexuality, however many morons doubt that it exists. 

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks after stuffing the handcuffs into her fashionably oversized bag. 

Nasir shrugs. “Dinner. Hanging out with Cas, maybe.”

“Cas.” Naevia sounds disapproving. 

“I know he pissed you off when he flirted with Crixus but he flirts with _everyone_. He’s my mate, don’t make it a thing.”

“I just think you might actually meet someone if Cas wasn’t doing _his thing_ all the time. And he always drags you to these god-awful parties.” Naevia huffs. Nasir does not reply because she has got a point. But it has always been like this between Cas and him, that is just the way they are.

“So how about--”

The door bell chimes and two really built men enter the shop. Nasir sees that they cut out the necks of their T-shirts, a thing he fucking hates because how big can your neck possibly be? He has never seen them before. One darts to the side, whilst the other stays where he is, slightly overwhelmed by the shop. Immediately, Nasir marks them down as tourists. 

“Guck mal das hier an, wie wär’s damit?”

_German_ tourists. 

“Duro, why couldn’t you do this at home?”

“Ugh, you take speaking English all the time too seriously, bro. I didn’t to do this at home for the same reason you wouldn’t. It’s a small fucking town and I don’t want Mutti to know before Nina. Or at all, really.”

“Get on with it then!”

Nasir only half-listens and starts labelling the handcuffs. He _does_ notice that their English is nearly flawless, much better than he expected. 

“Damn! Got to run, Nasir, or I’m gonna be late for work. See you,” Naevia says and gives him a peck on the cheek. She has trouble pushing past the Germans because they take up a lot of space. 

“How do you even know that she’d like this kind of thing?” the slightly taller bloke with the ridiculously broad shoulders asks. 

“So last month, there was this time when we watched _Pornos_ and --”

“Stop right there! Is that ‘need to know’? ” 

“You asked, _Blödmann_!”

“You’re my brother, and there are mental images I don’t need. Gross, man!”

“Suit yourself. Anyway, I know she’d love it and I’m kind of curious myself.”

“Just choose one,” the taller brother demands. Nasir suppresses a smile at his discomfort. A lot of people feel uncomfortable in sex shops but coming here with a sibling is bound to be awkward. Nasir’s brother knows about his job, of course, but Nasir would never bring Firas to The Spunky Corner. Not that this is likely to happen anyway – Firas lives in Syria after all. 

“Gibt’s die nur in einer Größe?”

“Woher soll ich das denn wissen? Frag doch mal!” The answer comes in a hushed voice, too low for Nasir to hear, and after a minute’s exchange of loud whispers, the taller guy exclaims, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” 

Nasir slides off the box he is sitting on and puts the labelling machine down. His policy is to wait till his customers approach him. Being too helpful an employee in a sex shop usually scares people away, but he has worked here too long not to see where this is going. 

He straightens up and turns, his face nearly colliding with a very broad chest. 

“Ugh, sorry,” Nasir says automatically and steps back. The lighting is dim because their stock sells better this way. The shop is also quite crammed and narrow because space in London is fucking expensive. Nasir hasn’t seen his customers up close until he nearly walked into one just now. He looks up into green eyes and his mind goes blank. 

There is definitely such a thing as lust at first sight and Nasir is experiencing it right now. He has a thing for tall men and this one is _fit_ , so he just stares for a few seconds. The man’s face is a little softer and rounder than he would have expected, and it is covered with carefully groomed stubble. There is no mistaking that Nasir, too, is being checked out. 

“Was denn jetzt?” the brother calls, impatiently, and breaks the spell.

Tall Guy gives him a wide, slightly embarrassed smile and, _fuck the gods_ , he has dimples! 

“My fault,” Nasir’s customer says. “I, er, could you come and help my brother with, er, something?”

“No problem at all,” Nasir says and moves towards where he knows the brother is standing. He also knows that they have been looking at nipple clamps for the last ten minutes. 

“Hi, how can I help?” Nasir asks. There is a definite family resemblance but this one, the younger brother, Nasir assumes, looks a bit cuter and less sexy. He has got dreadlocks and he looks as flustered and confused as he sounded earlier. 

“Er, so…can you recommend some?”

Nasir smiles. “Sure. For yourself or --”

“No. Well, yes. For me and my girlfriend,” Dreadlocks stumbles through the answer. 

“Okay, I’d go with these then,” Nasir says and grabs a sealed package. “They are good quality and also come with instructions.” 

Dreadlocks eagerly takes them, a grateful look in his eyes, and starts examining the package. 

“Gratitude,” Tall Guy says, from behind Nasir, who immediately gets goose bumps. 

“Sure,” Nasir says, looking over his shoulder and giving him a slow smile. 

“Yeah, I’m taking them. Thanks, man, where do I pay?” Dreadlocks asks. 

“Follow me!” Nasir leads the way into the back of the shop. The lighting here is better and Nasir can make out that, even though they obviously hit the gym together, they have different styles. Dreadlocks wears a green T-shirt with a cannabis leaf print, and washed-out red shorts, whilst Tall Guy is covered by a huge, loose-fitting plain black T-shirt and jeans. The jeans are enjoyably tight. 

“That’s 12,99, please,” Nasir tells them and puts Dreadlocks’ purchase in a bag. 

“Can I pay by card?” Dreadlocks asks and Nasir nods, readying the machine. 

He cannot help stealing a glance at the name on the card. Duro Markus Menz. Dreadlocks Duro types in the code and Nasir uses the opportunity to smile at Tall Guy again, whose green eyes, he realises with a pleasant shiver, have been fixed on him the whole time. The machine makes a noise as the paper confirming payment is pushed out. Too bad, he would have enjoyed flirting with Tall Guy some more. 

“Thank you, have a great day,” Nasir says, handing Dreadlocks Duro his card and pushes the receipt into the bag. 

“Is it weird working in a sex shop?” Tall Guy blurts out suddenly. Dreadlocks gives him a surprised look. 

“Not really after three years, no,” Nasir replies. 

“Three years, huh?” Tall Guy seems to have exhausted his small talk abilities.

“Come on, bro,” Dreadlocks Duro urges his brother and wanders off to the door, only to be distracted by the gay porn section. They don’t have a het porn section, which Dreadlocks is soon to discover. 

“Er, well, I’ll see you around,” Tall Guy says, looking somewhat put out. 

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Nasir replies emphatically. Name, he does not even know his name. 

“Boah, Agron!” Dreadlocks Duro calls. Nasir smiles. _Agron_. 

They’re at the door when Nasir hears Dreadlocks Duro speaking again, loudly and excitedly. “Wusstest du, dass das ein Schwulen-Sexshop ist? Meinst du, der kleine Kerl ist auch schwul?”

“Duro, halt die Klappe,” his brother tells him and slaps the back of his head. 

***

Nasir follows Cas to a god-awful party that night because Nasir is bored and horny and…yeah. He knows a lot of the faces. The low techno beat thumps through his body as he makes his way to the bar. 

“Hey, Nasir!” Someone close-by shouts his name and waves frantically. 

“Lugo!” Nasir shouts and waves back but points to the bar. If he gets sidetracked now he is never going to get a drink. Lugo is too nice to be a regular at parties like these but Lugo is also fucking ancient, as in going on forty, so he does not have a choice. Nasir should probably find a way to say no to Cas but pulling here provides easy gratification, which, being twenty-three, he can afford. Cas did not like Nasir’s last boyfriend and he often tells him that being single is the best thing that has happened to him. And they do have fun, especially when they are recapping their nights at a greasy spoon. 

Armed with a _Becks_ , he lets his eyes wander. Cas is already chatting up the hottest man at the party, so same old, same old. Nasir can spot two men he got blowjobs from in the past but neither of them were any good. He heaves a sigh and focuses on his beer, wondering if he should just call it a night. 

Someone falls back to lean against the wall next to him. “Hi, how you’re doing?” 

Nasir sees a shock of dark red hair and a handsome face with full lips and dark-brown eyes. “Not too bad,” he says. “You?”

“Better now,” the guy replies with a smile. “I’m Mark.”

“Nasir.”

“Wanna dance?”

Half an hour, four shitty songs and one beer later they are on the roof where it is quieter, well, relatively speaking. Nasir can hear moans and grunts coming from a few dark corners. Mark is not quite handsome, his nose is too thin and hawkish for his face, but he looks interesting, has decent dance moves and a mouth made for cock-sucking. 

“So what are you doing?”

Here it comes. “I work at a sex shop.”

“For real?”

“Yep.”

“I sell cars. Your job sounds more exciting, to be honest.”

“It’s all right but not as exciting as people think it is,” Nasir says. 

Mark leans in and breathes, “Wanna show me how exciting?” Nasir groans inwardly but, yeah, what did he expect? He puts the beer down and draws Mark back into an alcove.

Mark would have liked to join him but Nasir goes home alone. His room feels a bit empty and Nasir feels a bit sorry for himself. Brushing his teeth, he recaps the night. There was the surprise of Mark’s tongue piercing, which totally made up for his lame lines. Then his mind wanders to the two Germans in the shop. If only Agron had not been so tongue-tied, he could have got his number and then…well, what? Nasir sighs, drinks a glass of water and then waits for sleep to come whilst trying to block out the sounds of Crixus making the most of the handcuffs. 

 

***

 

Nasir has nearly forgotten about Agron, because it has been two weeks since the German Quest for Nipple Clamps, when the shop bell chimes and there he stands in all his glory. Only he looks even better because this T-shirt is _tight_ and has a fucking V-neck. He can also see why the other one had the neck cut out. 

Agron’s eyes browse the shop until they find him. “Hi,” he calls. It is a slow afternoon and he is the only customer. He walks over to where Nasir is checking the list of the newest DVD releases. “Remember me?”

“More nipple clamps?” Nasir asks with a wry smile and Agron lets out a startled cough and _blushes_. Doomed, Nasir is doomed. 

“Er, no. Although you may be more pleased than I to hear that they were met with great enthusiasm by Nina. That’s my brother’s girlfriend.” Flustered, Agron speaks too fast and there is still a bit of colour in his cheeks. 

“So he went back home on his own?” Nasir asks without thinking. 

“Oh, yeah. Duro was here only for three weeks to help me settle in before my course starts up. I’m doing an Mphil in Archaeology at King’s.”

“I see. Well, what can I help you with today if it’s not nipple clamps?” Nasir knows it is evil but he would like to see that blush again. Agron obliges.

“Er, I…er. Lube. I would like to buy some lube. Forgot mine in Germany.”

This is obviously a spur-of-the moment pretence or at least Nasir hopes it is. He really wants it to be, although he has no problem selling lube to the man. No problem at all. 

“Sure. Any preferences or allergies?” he asks, locking the laptop. “I’m Nasir, by the way.”

“Agron,” Agron says and gives him a look of pure relief. Clearly, flirting does not come easy to him. “And no. I mean, no preferences, no allergies.”

Nasir reaches for his favourite brand once they have reached the shelf. He grins. “It comes recommended.” 

Agron grins back and the dimples make a glorious comeback. 

“Oi, Nasir, will you ever learn to charge that fucking phone of yours?” Cas’s voice carries through the shop. 

“Excuse me a sec.” With slight regret Nasir turns to his friend.

“I’m at work, Cas. What’s so urgent?”

“Oh, I can see you’re _busy_. Hello, gorgeous,” Cas says, pushing past Nasir. Agron is not prepared for this and his face carries a look between annoyance and confusion. He does not reply and before there is an awkward silence Cas shrugs and turns back to Nasir. “There’s this wet pants contest in Thebes tonight. You coming?”

Could there be a less opportune moment for a wet pants contest? Nasir groans inwardly. “I’ll pass.”

“What, why? I’ve seen you in --”

“Cas! Not now. I’ll call you later, okay?” This is not happening to him. 

“Maybe I should come back another time,” Agron says and discreetly puts the tube back on the shelf. Yes, definitely annoyed now. 

Nasir throws Cas a look that leaves no room for arguments and nods towards the door. 

“Fine!” Huffy, his mate leaves the shop.

“Sorry,” Nasir says quickly. “I’m really, _really_ sorry.”

Agron frowns, evidently unsure of what to do next, so Nasir just goes for it. 

“You want to grab dinner later? I’m done at eight.” Breathless, he waits for an answer. 

“Aren’t you otherwise engaged? Wet pants and all.” Agron tries for humorous and fails. 

“No,” Nasir says quietly and looks straight into Agron’s eyes. 

“Okay. Eight.” 

The rest of the day stretches fucking _endlessly_ and Nasir admits to himself that he is nervous. It’s the dimples. 

 

***

 

Agron is waiting outside when Nasir locks up the shop, and he greets him with a wide toothy smile. “Hey.” He looks more relaxed than earlier and it suits him. Out on the street, he seems even taller and broader and Nasir heroically pushes away all thoughts that would make walking uncomfortable. 

They head to Nasir’s favourite Indian restaurant, Agron becoming more and more animated and talkative as they walk along. 

“London is fucking amazing,” he says. “Have you always lived here?”

Nasir shakes his head. “I’ve come to the UK when I was five.”

“Oh?”

“My dad’s Syrian and my mum was Italian. They died in a car crash near Rome and my brother and I grew up with my grandma in North London.” 

“Shit. Sorry,” Agron says.

“Don’t worry, I barely remember them. It is what it is.” 

They share naan bread and dips before Agron eats his way through a huge thali whilst Nasir has his favourite curry. 

“So you are here for a year? What made you come to England?” Nasir asks, curious.

“I had to get out of my backwards town. We’ve got more cows than people and it’s just not for me. I miss my brother already but it was time to leave.” Something about the way he says it makes Nasir take notice. 

“I take it there isn’t much of a gay scene in your backwards town?” 

Agron snorts and takes a sip from his mango lassi. “You bet there isn’t. One of the reasons I came here is that it’s a big-ass city.”

“Made any friends yet?”

“Yeah, you,” Agron says with a happy smile and Nasir’s stomach wobbles. “And my flatmates, especially Spartacus.”

“You have a flatmate named _Spartacus_?”

“It’s not his real name but he’s this stellar second-year History PhD student researching the Third Servile War and everyone calls him that. He’s a bit intense but a really nice guy. His best friend’s named Crixus and that’s his _real_ name.”

“Shoulder-long hair, beefy, manic gleam in his eyes?” Nasir asks, dreading the answer.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“He might be dating _my_ flatmate.”

Agron laughs and Nasir’s stomach makes another summersault. “Small world.” 

Time flies by and they leave only when the owner starts sweeping the floor. Nasir may be a little in love with Agron’s dimples and his spectacular arm muscles. He has got nice skin, too, and he is not into rap music, thank the gods. 

“Old school,” Agron tells him. “AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, that kind of thing.” 

Nasir, who is into indie rock, smiles happily. They leisurely stroll to Tottenham Court Road, and Nasir realises that this was the nicest, least taxing date he has been on in years. Spending time with Agron is like hanging out with a friend, only that he would also very much like to climb him and lick his neck. More and more doomed is what Nasir is. 

They eventually reach the underground and Nasir would not mind walking double the distance again if he could just spend some more time with Agron. He gets a sudden bout of nerves, certain that he wants to see Agron again but afraid that something will yet manage to fuck up this night, and he pulls off the band holding back his hair, nervously busying himself running his hands through it. 

“Nasir.” Agron’s voice is low and it is the first time he calls Nasir by his name. It comes out a bit wrong, the _s_ softer than it is, but it is so fucking sexy that Nasir’s mouth goes dry. The way Agron looks at him just then make him weak in the knees. And then Agron’s hands take hold of his face and he leans down, and it is the most romantic slow-mo kiss that has ever happened to Nasir, right there next to the staircase leading down to the London underground. It is soft and tender, a mere touching of the lips, before Nasir reaches up to get a hold of the nape of Agron’s neck. He teases Agron’s lips open with his tongue, and his heart is in his throat because this kiss is _awesome_. Agron’s thumbs stroke his cheeks while his tongue is licking into his mouth and Nasir thinks it’s fucking perfect. 

And then a drunk woman stumbles into them, her friends laughing while pulling her away. “Sorry!” they shout and laugh some more. 

They look at each other, shocked by the interruption. An embarrassed laugh bubbles up Nasir’s throat and then Agron is laughing too. 

“I take it next time I’ll come to see you at work you won’t make me buy anything?” Agron asks, still smiling. 

“You didn’t buy anything today,” Nasir replies. “Though the lube does come recommended.”

The expression on Agron’s face changes, switching from mirth to desire in a heartbeat. “Fuck, don’t!”

Nasir likes that he can do this to Agron but he also likes that they are not already grinding against each other against a wall, so he bites his tongue. Instead he asks for Agron’s phone and types in his number. His hand lingers on Agron’s when he gives the phone back and then Agron is gone and Nasir walks home, smiling until his face hurts. 

He checks his phone every five minutes, because he is pathetic like that. His heart speeds up when there is finally a text from an unknown number.

_Just so you have my no. too. Dinner was great…dessert more so, see you soon! x_

Nasir saves the number and…he _really_ needs to stop smiling. 

 

***

 

The next morning, in spite of a grievous lack of sleep, Nasir is walking on fucking sunshine.

“Wow, must have been a great wet pants contest,” Naevia comments when they meet in the kitchen. She is already halfway through her muesli. 

“What?” Nasir asks, confused, as he pours hot water over his tea bag. “I didn’t go. How do you know?” 

“I ran into Cas on the way home. He had come by to persuade you but you weren’t in yet. I told him to try your phone again.”

There had been three missed calls by Cas, which Nasir ignored before going to sleep, his mind full of Agron. “Yeah, I told him I’d pass.”

Naevia looks surprised. “So what did you do that makes you so disgustingly chipper?” 

“I went on a date. It was nice.” 

“Understatement of the year if that annoying glow is anything to go by,” she comments dryly. 

“It was _really fucking_ nice,” Nasir volunteers, knowing that vagueness drives Naevia up the wall. 

“You came home alone?”

“It was a date, not a fuck.” 

At this, Naevia’s face lights up. “Good for you. Okay, work’s calling. Could you take out the bin today? Thanks, Nasir.”

Naevia works at a piercing studio and she is rather good at her job. She is also a bit of a sadist and likes making inappropriate jokes to terrified customers. It is where she met Crixus but so far Nasir has not yet discovered where she pierced him, which is probably for the better. They are perfectly matched because both of them are fucking _insane_. 

It is his day off but when the phone rings he just knows that it is his boss about to ask for a favour. She does that a lot. He considers not picking up but that would not be like him. 

“Nasir? Hi. It’s Chadara.”

“Morning,” Nasir mumbles.

“I know it is your day off but I am stuck in Edinburgh. Could you pleeeeaaaase fill in for me today?”

Chadara comes from a filthily rich family. She owns The Spunky Corner but Nasir has come to do the day-to-day business and she pays him decent money. Chadara admires his work ethic because she has none, and Nasir is used to fill in for extra pay. It would have been nice to have the day off though. 

“Sure, of course.”

“You’re a daahling,” she says and hangs up. Nasir sighs and sips his tea. Saturdays are busy and he was hoping to have some time for himself. But at least he has a job. 

It _is_ a busy Saturday and sales are good. Thoughts of kissing Agron carry Nasir through day. Only after he closes the door behind the last customer who happened to buy a year’s worth of condoms with tutti-frutti flavour does Nasir notice that there are no new messages from Agron. The sinking feeling of disappointment is a shitty end for a long day. 

He considers calling Cas but Nasir does not want to fuck it better and Cas is not one for other options. It’s when he locks up for the night that he spots a tall figure across the street, and his heart skips a beat. 

“Hey,” he says when Agron stands in front of him. “How are you?” 

“Good,” Agron says noncommittally, and ads with German brusqueness, “So I wasn’t sure if coming by today would count as stalkery.”

He really looks as though he is not sure, so Nasir is quick to say that it doesn’t. Agron smiles, relieved. 

“Any plans for tonight?” asks Nasir, although he has a pretty good guess that Agron would not be here if he did. 

“Depends on what you’re doing,” is Agron’s reply. He is wearing a dark green T-shirt, which is definitely his colour.

“I had planned to stay in and cook,” Nasir says, not quite lying. He would have cooked and then spent the night on the internet. “Nothing exciting,” he adds. 

“No wet pants contest on today?” Honestly, why can no one let this go? It’s not as though he even fucking went there. 

“Not unless I do laundry,” Nasir quips. “So…dinner at mine? We could watch a film.”

Agron looks eager but something seems to be holding him back. 

“I’m a pretty good cook,” Nasir adds. _Come on!_

“Okay, I’m in,” Agron finally says and his smile is fucking breathtaking. They go shopping at Sainsbury’s and just the thought of having Agron in his flat makes Nasir giddy. He does not let Agron pay for any of the groceries, which makes Agron cross, so Nasir is okay with him buying two bottles of wine which are on offer. 

Naevia isn’t home; she might be staying at Crixus’s. Agron looks around curiously and he’s so tall that their flat looks even smaller than it is. The flat has a living room the size of a large cupboard, and Nasir’s room is adjacent to the kitchen whilst Naevia’s is next to the bathroom. 

“I didn’t think they exist but there is a goddamned carpet in your bathroom,” Agron says excitedly after using the loo. 

“I guess that’s not a thing in Germany?” Nasir has already started chopping the vegetables. Agron opens the first bottle of red and then they’re both cutting and chopping and it’s _nice_. Dinner is pretty damn good and Nasir feels smug when Agron has seconds despite a reported dislike of green peppers. And then they’re kissing whilst doing the dishes and Agron’s hands are wet and covered in foam that rustles against Nasir’s ear when Agron cups his face. 

“Sorry, didn’t want to get you wet,” he says with a grin, and this cheeky, flirty Agron grows on Nasir more and more. 

They start the second bottle when they settle down in the living room. Agron looks too large for the small sofa and Nasir hopes that he can keep his hands to himself for at least part of the film. On the other hand, he knows the film, and Agron is ridiculously attractive and just _there_. Nasir leans in to press a wet, lingering kiss against his neck during the opening credits and the noise Agron makes goes straight to his cock. Fifteen minutes in, Agron’s hands are buried in Nasir’s hair and Nasir is straddling his lap. They are both breathless when Nasir suggests moving it to his room. Agron sucks on his lower lip and palms him through his jeans in response and Nasir nearly quashes the plan then and there. 

Divested of his T-shirt, Agron looks ravishing and Nasir makes disturbing mental associations with the heroes on _Mills and Boon_ covers. They have made it to Nasir’s room and even onto his bed – on their third attempt – and now Agron is busy kissing Nasir’s chest. They are still wearing jeans, which Nasir has to work on as soon as Agron stops, _fuck_ , licking his right nipple in a way that connects it straight to his painfully hard dick. 

“Off,” he says and, clumsy with eagerness, fumbles with the buttons – _two_ , for fuck’s sake – of Agron’s jeans. Agron smiles, probably at how monosyllabic he has become, and starts working on Nasir’s jeans instead. He pulls them down his narrow hips together with his pants. The remainder of Nasir’s coherency leaves him when Agron’s tongue licks up the length of his cock. He doesn’t hurry as he sucks him into his mouth slowly and, _fuuuuck_ , lovingly tongues the slit. Nasir is in no doubt that Agron loves cock, and that he loves having his down Agron’s throat. He is so hard it hurts and his hands are numbly reaching for Agron’s shoulders to hold on to for dear life as Agron’s starts sucking him. 

“Shit, Agron,” he manages to warn him mere seconds before he comes in hot, thick spurts inside Agron’s mouth. He looks down just as Agron swallows around him, which wrings another spurt out of his cock, and a low shuddery breath escapes him. Nasir trembles as he comes down from his orgasm and then Agron’s on top of him, kissing and nibbling his neck again, and Nasir doesn’t quite know how he manages to open Agron’s fly but he does. After a bit of shifting, Agron’s jeans are down around his knees and Nasir’s hand is wrapped around his cock. He pulls the foreskin back and rubs the head with his thumb, and Agron’s responding groan makes him shiver. Agron’s half on top of him, half on his side, allowing his hand better access, and Nasir just wants to tease more of these noises out of him and moves his hand as firmly and steadily as the awkward position allows. Agron feels big and heavy in his hand, fucking _amazing_ , and he leans in to whisper just that into Agron’s ear. The reaction is more than he expected. 

“ _Gott_!” Agron gasps, as his whole body tenses, and Nasir feels him coming all over his hand and against his thigh. 

“I’ve never had sex with anyone not speaking German before,” Agron confesses when they cleaned themselves up and lie entwined under Nasir’s duvet. He is tall enough to kind of wrap himself around Nasir, which is insanely hot and also really fucking nice. Nasir lets his fingers glide lightly over Agron’s arms and back, enjoying his warmth and the post-coital feeling of closeness. 

“Hmmm,” he makes, content. “You’re my first Hun.” He gives Agron a mischievous grin and kisses the corner of his mouth, rightly assuming that he won’t mind the teasing. 

“Can I stay?” Agron asks after a few minutes and Nasir pulls him closer in response. That man should try fucking leaving!

“You don’t really think I’d kick you out, do you?” 

“Just checking,” Agron says and nuzzles his neck. 

“So I’m your first Syrian? Granted, I’m more Roman than Syrian.”

“Yeah,” Agron manages in-between feathery kisses on his neck. It has been forever since Nasir has felt this good. 

“Not much variety in that backwards town of yours?” 

“Not much of anything. Got my first kiss when I did mandatory community service instead of military service, followed by my first everything else. I was nineteen.”

“Fuck,” Nasir says and presses a kiss against Agron’s biceps. “That sounds bleak.” He feels Agron shrug.

“It was all right.”

“So no potential boyfriends closer to home? I got my first blowjob when I was in high school.”

“You have a few years of experience on me then,” Agron says. 

“I don’t know,” Nasir says, twisting in Agron’s arms. “Your mouth is pretty awesome.”

Agron’s smile is part flattered, part embarrassed. He doesn’t get to hear these things often, Nasir suspects, and he decides to change that. Agron leans in for a kiss and it’s so tender and adoring that Nasir never wants it to end. He falls asleep in Agron’s arms.

 

…to be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **German translations:**
> 
>  
> 
> _“Guck mal das hier an, wie wär’s damit?”_  
>  "Look, how about this?"
> 
> _“Gibt’s die nur in einer Größe?”_  
>  "Do they come in just one size?"
> 
> _“Woher soll ich das denn wissen? Frag doch mal!”_  
>  "How would I know? Just ask!"
> 
> _“Was denn jetzt?”_  
>  "Now, what is it?"
> 
> _“Wusstest du, dass das ein Schwulen-Sexshop ist? Meinst du, der kleine Kerl ist auch schwul?”_  
>  "Did you know that this is a gay sex shop? Do you think the little man is also gay?"
> 
> _“Duro, halt die Klappe.”_  
>  "Duro, shut up."


	2. ride the rainbow, crack the sky

Nasir wakes up because he is hot. The reason is draped all over him, breathing against his neck. For a good ten minutes Nasir does not have the heart to move but then his discomfort wins out. Disentangling himself from Agron proves difficult because the man is twice as heavy in his sleep; eventually Nasir succeeds and hurries to the bathroom because his bladder is fucking killing him. Taking a quick shower would not be a bad idea, either. 

Refreshed and with his hair wrapped up in a towel turban, he discovers the mother of all motherfucking love bites on his neck. It’s so purple it is nearly black and was probably not achieved without some teeth. Nasir touches it tentatively and, flinching, puts on some sudocrem. Amusement wins out over annoyance because anyone who can do this to him without Nasir noticing is _awesome_. When he returns to his room, Agron is awake and texting on his phone. His hair is sticking in all directions and he still has that sleep-heavy look that shows he has not been awake for long. 

His face lights up when he sees Nasir, whose stomach goes wobbly again. 

“Give me second, just telling Duro what an idiot he is,” Agron says and his fingers fly over the touch screen vigorously. “All right, come here!” He throws the phone onto his jeans on the floor and Nasir finds himself on top of him like gravity fucking pulled him there. 

“ _Scheiße_!” Agron curses when he spots the hickey. “Did I do that? Sorry, that looks…ouch.”

“It’s going to be hell to cover up at work,” Nasir teases, all too aware that none of his customers would care. Agron looks a bit like a puppy that has been caught chewing someone’s slippers. Well, he’s been _chewing_. Nasir slides his arms around Agron’s neck and presses their lips together. 

“Morning,” he says after a minute of lazy kissing. “Breakfast?”

Agron wriggles his eyebrows in response, which makes Nasir grin and kiss him again. And then Agron’s stomach protests loudly and they’re both laughing. 

“Can I take a shower?” Agron asks.

“Sure, I’ll make some tea. How do you take yours?”

“White, no sugar. Thanks.” Nasir hands Agron a towel from his stash, puts on a T-shirt and comfy trousers and then heads to the kitchen. 

Agron is still in the shower and Nasir is making scrambled eggs, when the front door opens and Naevia and Crixus walk into the kitchen, carrying heavy grocery bags.

“Morning,” Nasir says, grateful that he let his hair down to dry. “What’s this for?”

“Ha, we’re going to have a little dinner party tonight. Moroccan food. You’re not working today, are you? So you can help,” Naevia tells him, grinning, while Crixus is crouching in front of the fridge and stocks it methodically. Nasir fucking loves Naevia’s couscous.

“Er, hi,” Agron says, filling out the entire door to the kitchen. His hair is wet and his T-shirt shows spots of dark green, where he hasn’t towelled himself dry properly. Naevia, however, is not easily thrown by strangers in her kitchen, having brought her own share of them home before she started seeing Crixus. 

“Morning, I’m Naevia.”

“Agron. Nice to meet you,” Agron says.

“Agron? The fuck are you doing here?” Crixus asks, standing up. 

Agron looks shocked, downright horrified to see him. “Erm,” is all he says. 

“Crixus? Manners?” Nasir is exasperated and pulls Agron into the kitchen, makes him sit down and pushes a cup of tea into his hands. 

“Oh, you’re seeing Nasir? Right, didn’t know you’re gay.”

Agron is still looking shell-shocked, which Nasir cannot explain. He told him that Crixus was dating Naevia, so what is the deal? 

“Let them have breakfast, Crix. Come on, we’ve still got to buy the booze.” Naevia manoeuvres her boyfriend out of the kitchen.

“Er, that was Naevia, my flatmate. And Crixus.” Nasir eyes Agron carefully. 

“You did tell me,” Agron eventually says, running a hand nervously through his hair. “Just didn’t expect to run into him here. Didn’t think.”

“You don’t like him?” Nasir puts a plate with fried tomatoes, scrambled eggs and baked beans in front of him. “Sorry, forgot to buy bacon and sausages.” Under different circumstances, this would set up the perfect joke.

“Gratitude.” Agron looks embarrassed now. He takes a deep breath. “The thing is…I’m not exactly out.”

“To Crixus? Well, now you are. He’s fine with it.”

“I mean, in general.”

“You told me you’re twenty-six,” Nasir says, nonplussed. “How can you _not_ be out?”

Angrily, Agron pushes the plate back. “That’s none of your business,” he snaps.

“Right,” Nasir says automatically. It would have been too good to be true. The disappointment and rejection he feels must have shown in his face because Agron looks taken aback at first, then contrite. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I…just. It’s complicated. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to explain it yet.” The chair creaks on the floor as he gets up and pulls Nasir into his arms. Nasir feels a kiss pressed onto the top of his head, which should be nice, but Agron is tense as hell. 

“Okay,” Nasir says quietly and wraps his arms around the small of Agron’s back. Slowly, Agron relaxes into the embrace. 

They have breakfast in silence and Agron throws him anxious glances, clearly unsure of where they stand now. Nasir does not know, either. He has never been involved in a big coming-out drama, he just started telling his grandma about the boy he fancied at school and that was that. Well, kind of. Agron and Nasir have been on two dates, so it is still time to call it a day. While he mulls over the probability of this option he notices that the T-shirt really brings out the green in Agron’s eyes and who is Nasir kidding, he is too invested by far already. 

“You’re going to tell me when you’re ready,” he says into the silence. 

Agron’s sigh of relief is audible. “Yeah. I will, I promise.” 

Nasir smiles at him and, _fuck the gods_ , there are the dimples again, as Agron smiles back. “That’s really good breakfast, by the way.” 

They go back to Nasir’s room when they are done, and before Agron can even think about leaving, Nasir has him pinned to the bed and they’re out of their clothes in no time. Yeah. 

This time he sucks Agron’s cock, sucks him down his throat, takes it all, and Agron is a breathless mess, his hands helplessly entangled in Nasir’s hair. Agron’s low moans are doing things to Nasir, and then he lifts his head, looks straight into his eyes and gasps Nasir’s name, and Nasir is coming grinding against the sheets, which he may be mortified about later. Nasir fingers Agron’s balls, squeezing gently. Agron’s cock jerks in his mouth and Nasir swallows eagerly.

“That was…amazing,” Agron says when he’s got his breath back. He pulls Nasir up and flips them over. His nose nudges Nasir’s and then he is kissing him, deep and a bit messy. Nasir’s hands close around his buttocks and the mere thought of Agron fucking into him, his muscles flexing whilst Nasir is holding on to his arse, sends a spark of desire down to his spent cock. Agron pulls away from the kiss, his green eyes warm and filled with something that leaves Nasir breathless. “You’re amazing,” Agron adds quietly and kisses him again.

Later, when they lie next to each other wrapped in sated desire, Agron asks, “Why a sex shop? You didn’t just wake up one day dying to work in a sex shop, did you?” Nasir props himself up on his elbow and smiles. 

“No, I used to study at LSE but in my first year I got really involved in LGBTQ activism. People being beaten to death in Uganda seemed to be more important than studying sociology, you know? So I dropped out. One of my then-flatmates, Chadara, opened a sex shop for fun and giggles, and asked me if I wanted to work there. So I said yes. I thought it would give me ample time for protests, letters and petitions and so on. But then the group was taken over by a complete fuckwit who ran it into the ground within three months. I lost interest because there was too much bickering and backstabbing but I still have that job at The Spunky Corner.” 

“I almost didn’t want to come here last night,” Agron says. “I was worried you’d be a bit, er, extreme.”

Nasir snorts. “That’s usually what makes people come home with me.” 

Agron frowns and Nasir could slap himself for bringing it up. Just then his phone rings. Nasir curses under his breath, angles for the cable of the charger it is connected to, and pulls it up. 

“Cas, what’s up?”

“Hi, how are you, man?”

“Not too bad. How are you?”

“Good. Listen, do I need to bring anything to dinner tonight?” 

Dinner? Right, Naevia’s little dinner party. He is surprised that she bothered to invite Cas. “Bottle of wine should be fine.”

“Wanna go clubbing afterwards?” 

Nasir sneaks a glance at Agron. “Probably not.”

“What’s with you, Nasir? You’re not going to stand me up twice in a week, are you? Come on, it’s going to be fun.”

“Let’s see how the night goes, all right?”

“All right, killjoy. See you later.”

“See you.” 

As soon as Nasir’s put the phone down, Agron asks, “Who’s Cas? That’s the guy from the shop, right?”

“Oh yeah, you met him. He’s a friend. A good friend.”

“Right.” Agron sits up abruptly. “I should go. I need to prepare for my class tomorrow.”

Nasir is not quite sure if he has missed something but he supposes that Agron has to leave some time. Agron pulls a face when he puts on his worn T-shirt, and his hair is fluffier than Nasir has ever seen it. All he wants to do is to pull Agron back into his arms. The rest of the day cannot possibly live up to Agron in his bed, so when the door shuts behind the man, Nasir decides to do laundry, which he really fucking hates, but he is not going to sleep in sheets covered in his own come. (He stopped doing that at eighteen. Okay, nineteen.)

 

***

 

When Nasir’s alarm goes off on Monday morning he’s still a bit hung over from Naevia’s dinner. It was a good night apart from Cas’s pouting because Nasir did not go clubbing with him. He makes himself a strong coffee – it is definitely a coffee morning – and then goes to work. At one he is starving and bored out of his mind. He also checks his phone more often than necessary and becomes more and more unhappy at the lack of new messages. 

It is a quiet day and he has time to waste on the internet. Nasir’s heart beats excitedly when he sees that Crixus is tagged in a photo with Agron and Agron’s brother, and then, because he cannot find Agron’s, Nasir is searching Duro Menz’s Facebook, and he knows he is genuinely and truly doomed. There are a bunch of public photos of Agron and Duro and a few friends at the gym, playing football and together on a hike. In some pictures Agron has dreadlocks, too, though shorter ones. He and Duro are inseparable, even in the ones with Duro’s girlfriend, Nina, who often wears a long-suffering, half-amused look. Agron is always surrounded by friends and Nasir wonders if really none of them knows that he is gay. 

Impatient after looking at pictures of Agron, Nasir sends him a text just when he is about to lock up because it has been a long day. 

_Had to wear my hair down, still look as if I got mauled. Your fault. xx_

Ten very long minutes later he gets his reply.

_Next time I’ll kiss it better. Stuck with study group tonight, maybe see you tomorrow? x_

Nasir writes back immediately. 

_Can’t wait. xx_

Not really keen on spending the rest of the day by himself, he calls his friend Sura and they meet at their favourite café. It is one of those places that are rare in London as it has a continental flair. At least that is what Sura tells him and she has studied in Sofia and Vienna. Nasir has not seen her in almost a month and they have a lot to catch up on. Sura studies Bulgarian and Hungarian films of the nineteen-eighties, is a theatre buff, yoga-obsessed and a great storyteller. Content, Nasir drinks his latte and is gradually enveloped in her stories. 

When she has finished a melancholy tale of her eighty-five-year old neighbour, Everett, and his cat, she says, “I’m going to go to Budapest next term, have I told you yet?” 

“No, you haven’t. I wish I could come. I haven’t had a holiday in ages.”

“It isn’t a holiday, it’s research,” she corrects him but her smile tells him that she is going to do a lot of sightseeing. “Oh shit, what is that on your neck?”

Nasir had forgotten about the hickey and flipped his hair over to the other side. Now he self-consciously covers it up with one hand. “The most monstrous hickey you’ve ever seen?”

“Looks more like you’ve been attacked by a vampire,” Sura says with a sly smile. “Care to tell me about who put it there?”

Nasir shrugs. A part of him wants to talk about Agron _all the fucking time_. He wants to know what his friends think and he wants to gush about how gorgeous and great to talk to Agron is. But there is another part that wants to keep him to himself a while longer and not so deep down he is afraid of getting too attached too quickly. 

“Someone I met at work. I’ll tell you about him next time, when I need an update about Everett and the cat! I should go now.” Nasir stands and hugs Sura goodbye. On his way home it starts raining, a light drizzle, which Nasir tries to ignore like everyone else. His phone gets wet when he checks it, but he’s got a new message and reads it eagerly. 

_Are you working tomorrow?_

Nasir writes that yes, he is.

_I’ll come by the shop. Don’t leave without me. x_

The resulting dopey smile does not leave his face for the rest of the way. 

 

***

 

He makes an effort the next day, starting the day with a jog. He also does a few push-ups and sit-ups for good measure, uses conditioner on his hair and then picks a teal T-shirt that has got him lots of compliments in the past, and his favourite pair of black jeans that show off his legs. There is of course still that humongous hickey of doom that is starting to turn a dark, bruised green around the edges. Maybe it’s going to peel off. Nasir just hopes for the best. 

Agron comes into the shop an hour before it closes, just as Nasir is selling Ben Wa balls to a lesbian couple. He feels Agron’s eyes on him throughout the entire exchange and nearly drops the receipt. As soon as his customers are out of the door Agron pulls him into a breath-stealing kiss. 

It is a warm September evening. They go and grab Chinese takeaway and talk and eat on a bench in the growing dark. Only of course it starts to rain again, this is London after all, and Nasir looks at Agron, whose hair is wet, and says, “Do you want to come to mine and fuck me?” 

Without a word, Agron chucks the box of fried crispy duck noodles in his hands into the bin next to the bench, grabs Nasir’s hand and pulls him up. Nasir is too turned on to register that Agron’s kiss is slightly off centre from sheer eagerness. The wind picks up and it thunders in the distance, which really only accelerates urgency. They are fucking _drenched_ when Nasir turns the key in the lock and then Agron pushes him inside, against the wall, and they’re dripping all over the floor. 

Fumbling, he turns on the light in his room, when they finally, _finally_ get there and, they really need to get out of their clothes right fucking now. Agron’s T-shirt clings to his body and Nasir hastily tries to pry it off him, which is anything but easy, not with both of them so needy and attached at the mouth and Nasir’s eagerness to touch as much of Agron’s clammy skin as possible. He does not fare much better with his own clothes. Nasir’s socks, _his damned socks_ , they are soaked and stuck to his feet. 

When they finally topple onto the bed, Nasir is shivering with anticipation as well as the cold. 

“Nasir, just --” is all Agron gets out before he is kissing him again. Nasir feels the burn of Agron’s stubble but the prospect of irritated skin is even more of a turn-on. He reaches down and squeezes Agron’s arse, the skin there dry and warm. Agron lets out a hiss and bucks against him and _fuck_ , that’s hot. And then Agron finds that spot right underneath his earlobe that makes Nasir boneless and willing to do fucking _anything_ and the noise that escapes Nasir’s mouth is kind of embarrassingly loud and primal. Agron pulls back to look at him and what he sees make him close his eyes and take a deep wavering breath. His face is drawn with lust and a second later his hand is wrapped around Nasir’s cock, which under his touch twitches and grows even harder. Nasir really needs to move this along lest he’ll come before Agron is inside of him.  
Nasir grabs Agron’s hand and pushes it further down until his fingertips are pressed against his hole; he is making a point, he hopes. Then he rolls over to reach his bedside table, roughly pulls open the drawer and grabs the lube and three or four condoms for good measure.  
“You’re well equipped.” Agron laughs breathlessly, eyes dark with lust.

“I work at a sex shop, remember?” And then they are back to kissing and stroking and it takes for-fucking- _ever_ until Agron finally has a lube-slick finger inside Nasir’s arse. He pushes back impatiently but Agron is careful and thorough, the look of concentration on his face making Nasir even more desperate. Finally, when two fingers are stretching him, reaching deep, and Agron’s left hand slides up and down Nasir’s cock, Nasir is fucking ready for anything, it just needs to be happening _soon_. 

“Agron!” His voice comes out gruff and more demanding than intended but it has the desired effect and, with an audible intake of breath, Agron pulls out his fingers. Nasir sits up and tears open a condom wrapper with unsteady hands. Fuck, he cannot remember being so turned on since he has done this for the first time on Matt Haywood’s couch in sixth form. Agron remains immobile for about ten seconds until the condom is in place and then Nasir is being pushed back onto his back with his feet dangling in the air, and the lube is, _aaah_ , really cold. 

“Okay?” Agron asks and Nasir’s head jerks with an eager nod because this is more than okay. Agron places one large hand on his upper thigh just beneath Nasir’s buttock, anchoring him in place, and then he pushes in and Nasir closes his eyes to the stretch and the initial feeling of discomfort and takes it. It has been four months since he’s bottomed and his body is not quite used to it anymore. But the stretch is familiar and Agron moves ever so slowly, and when he is all in, Nasir lets out a shaky breath and opens his eyes. The sight of Agron between his legs, buried in-fucking-side of him to the hilt with an expression between pain and bliss on his face, makes Nasir’s cock harden up again. And then Agron is moving and Nasir is reaching for him because they are just not close enough. The slow, burning slide of Agron's dick makes something coil in Nasir’s groin, and he spreads a bit more and rests his legs on Agron’s shoulders to get the angle and depth he needs. 

“God, Nasir,” Agron gasps and leans down to kiss his lips, lick his jaw line and suck on his neck. His thrusts become steadier and he gets into a rhythm that makes Nasir’s toes curl. Nasir’s cock is not quite trapped between them but there is enough increasingly sweat-slick friction, enough of Agron moving on top of Nasir to feel really, really good. Nasir reaches for Agron’s arse and his muscles are flexing just the way he fantasised about. Agron’s hips jerk when he squeezes, and fuck yes, he thrusts a bit faster, pushing deeper, and he feels fucking huge inside Nasir, who urges him on with demanding hands and hoarse whispers. Nasir loses himself in movement, friction and their more and more uncoordinated kisses, his right hand curling around the nape of Agron’s neck. He holds him close, needs him close. But Agron is still holding back, not doing it hard enough, and Nasir turns his head to suck on the man’s earlobe, and then tells him exactly what he wants.

“Fuck me, just…I need to really fucking feel your cock. Don’t…aaah…hold back…I can take it, I want to take it,” he gasps, and Agron makes a noise between a grunt and a moan and fucks him _hard_. It hurts a bit but Nasir needs the burn, has been waiting for this, the painful pleasure that makes him see flickering red every time Agron hits his prostate. And suddenly he’s on the edge, the coiling, spreading heat in his groin too fucking much. He comes with a low, drawn-out moan, his cock twitching and jerking between them, until he’s spent and all the tension’s left his body. Agron’s face is all focus and need; his thrusts have slowed down during Nasir’s orgasm and he pulled back to look at him. He fucks him through it, watching Nasir fall apart beneath his thrusts, and he looks so good, so hot. Nasir tells him and Agron pushes in deep and comes with Nasir’s name on his lips. 

He _aches_ , when Agron withdraws and pulls off the condom, his hole feeling sore and his legs overstretched. Nasir knows that he is going to feel it for a while. As if he minds. His brain pleasantly woolly, Nasir cleans himself with a tissue and merely points to where the bin is. Agron walks over to discard the condom – giving Nasir a very good view of his nicely defined back and the slightly reddened bum – and then carries the bin over to Nasir, who does not trust his legs yet and is grateful to get rid of the tissue. 

“Gratitude,” he says, his voice still a bit rough. 

Agron wears a small, satisfied smile – until it abruptly drops off his face and is replaced by a contrite look.

“Er, Nasir. I may have – well, your neck,” he confesses. 

“I’m sure I’ll care in about fifteen minutes. Come here,” Nasir says, shuffling languidly to the side to make space for Agron. “Oh, stop looking like that!” Nasir grins and pulls him down to press their lips together and lick into Agron’s mouth. “I’m too spent to care.”

“You say that now. Remember that feeling when you look in the mirror,” Agron says, pecking him on the cheek. He lies down next to Nasir. 

“The weather forecast says it’s going to cool off, I can wear a scarf,” Nasir replies and slides an arm across Agron’s chest. Agron huffs a laugh and pulls Nasir closer, and Nasir finds, as his face is briefly smushed into his side, that he likes Agron’s scent. Or Agron’s _everything_. 

“So you have a thing for necks, huh?” he asks after a few comfortable minutes of what can only be described as cuddling. 

Agron snorts. “I have a thing for you.” Nasir is too dark to blush but he feels the heat rushing into his cheeks. 

“As everyone can attest now,” he manages to say. Agron’s hand on Nasir’s hip is tightening. 

“I don’t mind. Do you?” 

Nasir lifts his head to find Agron’s eyes. “No.” And he really, really doesn’t. 

When he sees his neck in the bathroom mirror he lets out a melodramatic groan nonetheless. It’s placed lower and closer to his shoulder than its twin, and it is not quite as black, but it’s dark and big enough to rank as really fucking huge. He _will_ have to wear a scarf, if only to escape the bawdy comments. 

And Naevia, who is in the kitchen for a late-night snack, gives him a foretaste of what is to come. “Holy shit, Nasir!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up,” he says, half exasperated, half amused, and takes the orange juice out of the fridge. 

“Are you sure he’s human?” 

“Positive. We’re compatible.”

Naevia coughs a laugh. “Do you want to put some ice on?”

Nasir holds the freshly poured glass of orange juice against his neck. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Apart from being mauled, how was it?” Naevia asks with a cheeky grin.

All too aware that Agron is next door, Nasir steps away from the fridge and sits down with Naevia for a moment. “Kind of fantastic,” he says in a low voice. “It sounds sad but the best part is that there is nothing contrived about it. I like the way he looks at me,” Nasir confesses. “And I’m really, really into him.”

“He is easy on the eyes,” Naevia agrees. “What’s his deal with Crixus though?”

Nasir shrugs. It is not his place to tell. “No idea. Where is he, by the way? He isn’t chained to your bed, is he?”

“He and Spartacus are hanging out tonight, blokes only. I think Spartacus has girlfriend troubles.”

“Sorry to hear that. What is he like, Spartacus?”

Naevia gives him a surprised look. “You’ve never met him?”

“Well, I’m not exactly close with Crixus,” Nasir says. “And I haven’t been at Agron’s yet.”

“Spartacus is, well, Spartacus. Just wait till you meet him.”

Too knackered to push this further, Nasir gets up. “Anyway, I’m off to bed.”

“Try not to get eaten,” Naevia cautions. Nasir shows her two fingers and then takes the second glass of orange juice and heads back to his room. 

Agron is reading something on his phone and cursing, as Nasir enters and shuts the door with his foot. 

“ _Verdammte Scheiße_ , ugh!” He looks and sounds angry.

“What’s the matter?” asks Nasir. 

“My fucking supervisor rescheduled our bloody meeting to tomorrow morning. I was damn well counting on tomorrow to read all this shit he sent me.” Okay, so Agron believes in expletives. Nasir walks over to where Agron is ranting and pushes the orange juice into his hand. 

“Nectar of the Gods,” Nasir tells him with a smile.

Agron blinks and drinks the orange juice. “Gratitude. Damn it, I was hoping I could spend more time with you,” Agron says and, _good gods_ , is that man _pouting_? 

It takes a bit of self-control not to smile. Instead, Nasir mentions the copy shop on the corner and the fact that Agron could just as well read ‘all this shit’ at Nasir’s place, that is, unless he needs something from home. 

“You…you wouldn’t mind if I worked here? This may take a few hours.” 

It is 11.23pm and the copy shop closes at midnight, so Nasir tells him not to be silly and get dressed. Their clothes are still clammy and Agron puts on a pair of Nasir’s socks, but they make it in time and Agron gets his printouts, mostly because Nasir knows Pietros who works there. On the way back, Agron pops into a corner shop and gets some beers.

“Nectar of the gods,” he says, grinning. And then they are back at Nasir’s place, lying in Nasir’s bed, propped up on pillows against the headboard, and Agron is reading and highlighting articles, and Nasir is chatting on Skype, and every so often they take a sip of beer and smile at each other. Agron fits so easily into Nasir’s room and his life, that Nasir can hardly believe that he has only known him for a couple of days. 

In the morning, Agron wakes him with soft kisses on his cheeks and forehead, already dressed.

“Whazzut?” is all Nasir manages. 

“Nasir, I’ve got to go. Fucking supervisor! I’ll see you later?”

“Hmmm.” 

When Nasir’s alarm goes off an hour later, he discovers that the sun is shining, but he gets a woollen scarf out of his closet all the same. 

 

***

 

Nasir is curious and a tad nervous because he is going to meet the mysterious Spartacus in about five minutes. He has seen quite a bit of Agron over the last week but neither Friday nor Saturday were any good, because Agron was busy and then Chadara decided to check in on her business after all, on a distressingly busy Saturday, no less, and Nasir had to show her lists and numbers, and now it’s Sunday and Agron invited Nasir over to his flat to watch a football game with his flatmates. They have not yet talked about it again, but if Agron is not exactly out to his friends then this might prove a very long, very frustrating evening. On the other hand, Nasir has never been at Agron’s and it feels like a step in the right direction. This is why he is carrying a six-pack down the street Agron lives in, searching for the right house. It is quite the studenty area, with run-down bikes encroaching upon railings and staircases. He barely has the time to recognize the building, when the door is opened and Agron stands there, beaming, his ridiculously sexy dimples doing overtime. He pulls Nasir into a thorough, lingering kiss as he gets up the stairs. 

“Hi,” Agron says when they pull apart eventually. Nasir is too busy smiling to reply. Agron leads him into the kitchen, where he drops off his beers, and then he walks him into the living room, where Crixus is already sprawled on the biggest sofa, a bowl of carrot sticks on his lap. In front of him there is a low table that is nearly collapsing under the weight of the massive amounts of celery, sliced peppers and carrot sticks, tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, salad and home-made hummus. 

“How is it going, little man?” Crixus says in greeting.

“I’ll give you little,” Nasir replies. It is not bad for student accommodation. The walls have been painted within the last decade and the furniture looks only fourth-hand. Besides two mismatched armchairs and the big sofa with Crixus, there is a tottery-looking two-seater squeezed in awkwardly against the wall to maximise the available seating. Nasir hears Gannicus before he sees him as the man is darting down the stairs two steps at a time.

“Hi,” he says with a charming smile. “I’m Gannicus.” His blond hair falls down to his shoulders in gentle waves and he looks like he just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. Nasir shakes his hand.

“Nasir, nice to meet you.” He wonders if having a weird-arse name is a requirement to get a room in this house. 

And then there is a commotion in the hall and a short-haired, rugged-looking guy appears, carrying three heavy-looking bags. 

“Spartacus, let me help you,” Agron offers immediately and takes two bags off him. The bags contain large bottles of water, some cider and more health-conscious snacks. Agron’s roomies are quite obviously all about clean eating and they all seem to hit the gym pretty hard. Spartacus stops when he sees Nasir and gives him a welcoming smile.

“You must be Nasir. I’m --”

“SPARTACUS!” Gannicus, Crixus and Agron yell in unison.

“That is not my name.” He says the words with a long-suffering sigh, but a smile is tucking on the corners of his mouth. Agron throws himself on the well-worn two-seater which dips precariously low under his weight. 

“The game’s about to start. Where is Mira?” he asks impatiently. Mira appears about ten minutes into the game, when Nasir has settled in next to Agron, Spartacus claimed an armchair and Gannicus flung himself onto Crixus legs until he’s moved them. Mira could only be described as having beautiful features and a lot of torrid tension with Spartacus. The air seems to crackle between them and they are tersely civil with each other.

“Just broke up,” Agron whispers to him, as Mira sits down in the other armchair. The game, a qualifying match between France and Germany, is quite good. Gannicus, Crixus and Agron are equally passionate, protesting and cheering loudly and cursing frequently. When things get intense, the only sound one can hear stems from their tense chewing of celery and carrots. France is ahead at the end of the first half and Crixus and Gannicus are so delighted, they empty two bottles of beer during the break. They also tease Agron mercilessly.

“Why don’t you go and fuck yourselves?” Agron snaps and marches into the kitchen. Nasir can’t help grinning. Agron’s arm had been casually draped on the back of the sofa where Nasir was sitting, a gesture not quite intimate but close enough for Nasir to be at ease. 

“I’m sorry, I’m Mira. Hi! Who are you?” 

“Agron’s boy,” Crixus says casually, successfully ruining Nasir’s equanimity. 

“I’m Nasir,” he says.

When Agron comes back, Gannicus flips his hair in an annoyingly perfect way and says, “Oi, Agron! Didn’t know you already got yourself a boyfriend. Sweet!” 

Nasir looks helplessly on as Agron first looks to Gannicus and then to Crixus, his face turning darker by the second. 

“Fucking Gauls,” he growls, fists clenched. 

“What?” Crixus looks confused. Nasir is honestly at a loss because he has no fucking clue where anyone stands. He has no idea if Agron talked to Crixus about keeping them a secret or if Agron’s taken Crixus knowledge as a sign to come out to his flatmates at least. 

Spartacus gets up and reorganises the refreshments, thereby casually putting himself in the space between Agron and Crixus. “Just sit your arse down, Agron,” he says calmly and to Nasir’s surprise Agron complies. He is tense, stealing anxious glances at Nasir every now and then. Nasir pretends not to notice and, luckily, the game starts back up. In the end, it is a draw, which is probably for the best. The room is so laden with testosterone that any small thing could tip the balance. Nasir has had three beers to keep calm and carry on. He needs the loo badly and as soon as the game is over, Spartacus asks if Agron’s already given him the tour. This gives Nasir a good excuse to leave the living room crazy behind. 

Once he has relieved himself, he takes a moment to prepare for whatever is to come and looks at himself in the mirror, wondering what he has got himself into. His hair is loosely braided today and he wears an oversized scarf wrapped around his neck because it is still bruised. He _looks_ calm, he can do this. Agron is sitting on the staircase, waiting for him, and then leads him upstairs into his room. 

“Nasir,” he says when the door falls shut behind him, “I’m sorry. Crixus is a fucking idiot and he shouldn’t have made assumptions and I’m --”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about. It’s like as though this house is a bizarre, alternative universe and none of you make sense,” Nasir interrupts him. A small part of him is surveying the room, which is very reflective of Agron’s personality, in that it has lots of pictures of him and Duro, and what Nasir assumes are more members of his family covering the pin board on his right. There are some barbells lying in the corner and a huge gym bag next to it. There’s also a giant poster of an exhibition of Roman artefacts in Hamburg. The bigger part of him is still waiting for Agron to shed some light on a very confusing evening.

“Well, we’ve not actually talked about, er, us. And then fucking Crixus and Gannicus go along and call you my boyfriend and I really hope you’re not freaked out or something. Because it’s between us, right?” Agron looks flustered and worried. Nasir, who has been expecting much worse, is almost lightheaded with relief. 

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” he asks with a slow smile.

“Yes,” Agron says quickly and without hesitation and Nasir’s heart skips a beat. “But I know that’s just me being insane. We’ve been seeing each other for just over a week and I don’t…I don’t want you to feel pushed into something you’re not ready for yet because my fucking flatmates have a big mouth.” He is rambling and his accent is getting stronger and Nasir puts him out of his misery by crossing the distance between them and stretching to capture Agron’s mouth in a kiss. After a long moment, Agron relaxes into it and pulls Nasir into a tight embrace. They stand like this for a while, just hugging and kissing until Nasir gets a cramp in his left calf from being on tiptoes for too long. 

“Shit,” he hisses and drops to the floor to massage his leg. “Cramp,” he lets Agron know. Agron who is right there with him, looking worried. Nasir moans with relief when his muscle finally relaxes. “Fuck, I hate it when that happens.”

“So…are we good?” Agron asks and they are still on the floor, only now Nasir’s right hand is entwined with Agron’s left. 

“Yeah. I…to be honest, I was on pins and needles the entire time. I wasn’t sure if you’d rip Crixus’s head off for outing you to your friends or if they already knew. Crixus’s labelling me your boyfriend kind of slipped by.”

“Shit, you’re right. I should, er, get better with words and explaining things, shouldn’t I?” Agron looks sheepish. “Apologies.” 

“Don’t worry. You can make up for it by telling me now.”

“Maybe not on the floor though,” Agron replies. Nasir sits down on Agron’s swivel chair, which swivels only to one side, and Agron sprawls on his bed, propped up against the wall. Not for the first time Nasir thinks that Agron – his brand-new boyfriend – dwarves UK furniture. 

“All right, so what do you want to know?” Agron asks.

“Who knows, who doesn’t know and preferably why.”

Agron heaves a heavy sigh. “Okay. Well. My friends at home don’t know. But Spartacus is, er, inquisitive and intuitive in equal measures and I always have the feeling that he just knows stuff. Anyway, Crixus has known since he ran into us at your place. It wasn’t so much me coming out as the guys just catching on. I _have_ talked about you an awful lot,” Agron says, blushing down to his neck, which Nasir can easily see, as Agron’s wearing one of his ridiculous, cut-out T-shirts. “And I didn’t really make an effort to keep it under wraps.”

“What about your brother?”

Agron rubs his face and huffs before looking straight at Nasir, a pained expression in his eyes. “Duro’s different.”

 

…to be continued.


	3. he's got nothing you need

“Different how?” Nasir asks carefully. 

“Look, this isn’t about me being self-hating or cowardly or anything. I’m not ashamed of liking cock better than cunt,” Agron says coarsely. “I told you that I’m from a small town. My family has been living there for generations. Everybody knows everybody and their business. I,” he says, stopping to take a deep breath. “My uncle Gunnar was gay. He was my absolute favourite, well, everyone’s really. He was a history buff and told the best stories. A bit flamboyant, wearing purple cord and tight button-down shirts, and I _loved_ that he didn’t give a fuck. Only Uncle Gunnar was gay in the 70s and 80s and at some point he got sick.” 

Nasir dreads where this is going. He _knows_ where this is going.

“He was tested HIV positive but treatment then was shit and he’d got infected a long while before he was diagnosed. And as soon as people knew they stopped. Stopped laughing at his jokes and clapping him on the back. They stopped talking to him or touching him altogether. We had some neighbours who stopped coming over to our house because they thought they could catch AIDS just by drinking from the same damn cup as my uncle. It was a really fucking rough time for my family. My uncle was my dad’s little brother and he loved him as much as I love Duro, I think. Uncle Gunnar died when I was fourteen. Duro was twelve and he took it even harder, acted up in school and shit. Mum, Duro and I went and visited him at the hospice once or twice a week but my dad went every day. And he looked…I remember that he looked like he was dying with him.” 

Agron’s pulled up his legs, no longer confidently sprawled on his bed but trying to contain old pain and grief. 

“Papa was absolutely devastated when he died…completely out of his mind for almost a year. He drank a bit too much, spent a lot of time by himself in the garage, and got in some fights with people who talked shit about my uncle. But it wasn’t over yet. Duro didn’t cope well with the changes at home. I didn’t either because I…well, I was beginning to know about myself. But I’m his big brother and I had to look out for him. We weren’t allowed to play with some of our friends till about a year later. They didn’t care but their parents did. Some still do. We’re the family with the gay uncle who died of AIDS and every time my brother or I got a cold people started looking at us as if we had it too. And my parents…losing my uncle this way nearly destroyed their marriage and seeing us ostracised, it…my mum cried a lot. And that’s why I cannot come out to my parents or my brother or anyone else in our town. And I can tell you it fucking sucks to be twenty-six and in the closet.”

Agron’s eyes are blurry with unshed tears and he looks away and blinks furiously. Before he knows it Nasir is by Agron’s side, crawling up close to him and hauling him in, and then Agron is hiding away, his face burrowed against his chest and Nasir is cradling a giant of a man who loves his family too much to burden them with a truth steeped in the past. However much of this is only in Agron’s head – and Nasir does not know enough to judge – he can understand the pain and the reason behind his decision. Agron’s hiccoughing little sobs is silent otherwise, but his hands are clenched in a white-knuckled grip on Nasir’s T-shirt, holding on tight. Nasir strokes his head in a repetitive soothing motion and slowly Agron calms down. 

“Apologies,” he mumbles into Nasir’s T-shirt. 

“It’s okay. Really, don’t worry,” Nasir assures him and leans his cheek against Agron’s head. 

“It’s just…I only ever told one other person.” Agron draws back. His face is a little flushed and he looks worn-out but he is composed otherwise. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Agron gives him a weak smile. “Go ahead.” When he leans back against the wall, Nasir follows, leaning against his shoulder, and Agron puts his arm around him.

“Why haven’t you moved?”

“We own quite a bit of land there and --”

“No, not your family. You,” Nasir clarifies. 

“I tried but I always go back for Duro. I did my community service at a hospital in a bigger town nearby and came home only for the weekends. It wasn’t bad. I fooled around with a nurse a few years older than me. Experienced my first everythings, had a bit of heartbreak because I was a goddamned idiot. And then I went to university and made some new friends. It was a breath of fresh air, all that freedom, you cannot fucking imagine what that felt like. A friend of mine, Donar, took me to some clubs and parties and…eventually I got myself a boyfriend. But that didn’t end well.” There is a finality to his last words that lets Nasir know not to pry further. And he won’t. 

“Gratitude. For telling me.” Nasir entwines their hands again and Agron squeezes his lightly, acknowledging his words through touch. 

Then Agron huffs a laugh. “You have a right to know what you’re getting into.” 

Something about how he says it isn’t quite right but there has been enough soul-baring for now. Nasir turns his head and slowly presses a kiss onto Agron’s neck, which is warm and salty and a bit scratchy. Then he breathes a series of soft kisses against his jaw line. It is not meant to be seductive but comforting and adoring, and he feels Agron shudder and relax. A knock on the door startles them apart.

“What?” Agron calls.

“I made a fry-up with all the leftover veggies and it’s a shitload of food. If you want some you’d better come down now before Gannicus and Crixus are getting started,” Spartacus’s voice sounds through the door. Nasir looks at his watch. It is getting late.

“Can you stay?” Agron asks. Nasir knows that this is about the meal Spartacus is generously offering to share but it, too, is about where they stand. Even though he does not know how he got here in such a short amount of time, Nasir is too far gone even to imagine walking out now. Something pulls him to Agron. 

“Yes, I’ll stay,” he says and that is that.

Dinner is a loud, boisterous affair. Their group seems to be a flat-share match made in heaven…or maybe the opposite. All of them, even Mira, really do go to the same gym and have an ongoing competition about _everything_. Nasir watches amusedly as they tease and challenge each other and decides that he likes all of them. But as nice as it is, it has been an emotionally charged day and it only takes one look between him and Nasir to make Agron get up and make apologies for the both of them and calling it a night. 

Nasir actually anticipated (or rather hoped for) staying the night and brought a toothbrush, a T-shirt and a change of underwear. Agron’s sheets smell freshly laundered and the thought that he may have put clean sheets on for Nasir speaks of forethought and is oddly endearing. 

“Come here,” he says when Agron comes back from the bathroom and lifts the duvet. They get comfortable in each other’s arms and Nasir listens to Agron’s heartbeat while Agron breathes against his hair. This feels nice and they are groggy enough to yawn and admit to being tired, so Agron turns off the light and settles back into Nasir’s embrace. The room is pitch-black, the outside world shut off by thick curtains on the window. It is a bit disorienting at first, this utter darkness, though it turns restful soon, snugly hiding away all insecurities. 

“I’m clean, by the way. I get tested every six months, the last time two months ago,” Nasir says into the dark. “But if it set your mind at ease, I could do another one next week.”

Agron must have been dosing off because he startles a bit at Nasir’s voice, and then Nasir feels him press his lips against his temple. 

“It would. In fact, we could go together.”

“Sure, boyfriend,” says Nasir, smiling.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He hears and feels Agron clearing his throat. “It kind of feels like I’ve known you longer than I have but I don’t actually know that much about you. I _do_ know that there is a guy called Cas with whom you go to the kind of parties where men with boyfriends don’t go. Not that I wouldn’t appreciate you in wet pants but I am not…I’m not good at sharing.”

_Oh_. Nasir cannot even say that Agron’s concerns are unfounded. For some reason Agron, who’s got a bad history with sexually transmitted diseases, wants to date a scrawny Syrian-Italian who works at a sex shop and has a history of bad judgement calls, and he thinks that _Nasir_ is going to make sacrifices by giving up the kind of parties he goes to when all he craves is an ego boost and getting his dick sucked. And then Nasir realises that this has turned into a long fucking pause and he needs to _say_ something.

“You know when we first kissed? I was happy that you walked off down to the tube. I had a hard-on all the way home just thinking of that kiss and anticipating what doing more to you would be like. But I was happy that you didn’t even ask. You said, ‘don’t’. And then I knew that it was worth waiting for.”

This earns him a sloppy kiss to where Agron thinks Nasir’s mouth is (it isn’t) and then they are really kissing with greedy tongues, and hot minty breaths shared between them. Nasir shifts until he feels Agron pressed hard against him, and he rolls his hips because it has been three days and Agron is right _there_. Argon’s hand, the one that isn’t busy holding on to Nasir’s neck, settles on his left buttock and urges him closer, squeezing hard, and Nasir’s responding moan is sucked into the kiss. Their pants are in the way but their cocks align all the same, and the first thrust is just the promise of the second and then they’re moving against each other, increasingly frantic. They should get them off, these offending garments, but Nasir is already a bit too far gone to have proper brain functions and this, _this_ might be enough if he twists his hips just _so_ and Agron keeps sucking on that spot below his ear. 

“Wet pants contest,” Agron deadpans, afterwards, and Nasir loses it. They both laugh and giggle until Spartacus knocks on the door because he has a long day ahead and it’s one in the fucking morning and can they please shut up now before he _makes_ them. 

 

***

 

They are getting to know each other over the next weeks as they gradually slot into each other’s lives. When they walk together, Agron slings an arm around Nasir’s shoulder, which Nasir doesn’t mind because he _does_ have a thing for tall men. Agron complains a lot about the weather and starts wearing jumpers and hoodies halfway through September, but he finds Nasir’s admittedly large collection of scarves hilarious. Since he is the reason Nasir has need of every single one of them, he can’t talk. Agron goes to the gym four times a week but stands surprised that Nasir is a faster and more sustained runner when he joins him on one of his jogs. Nasir likes to cook but hates to do the dishes, and he has a habit of stealing the blanket. Agron has got a short fuse and is prone to losing his temper, but he is also very tactile and easily calmed down by touch. Pistachios, Nasir detests the taste of them, and Agron really, really hates green peppers and kind of only had seconds that one time because it made Nasir smile. Agron can’t stand the taste of gin while Nasir loves gin tonic, so Nasir has to brush his teeth before kissing him. They both like to steal food off each other’s plates and get excited about superhero movies. Agron is a bit of a wuss when it comes to horror films, which Nasir finds extremely adorable, but he has no sense of self-preservation whatsoever when it comes to stepping up for people he cares about. He even gave Spartacus shit for breaking up with Mira because she has fast become the sister he never had. Duro and Agron text each other every day and call at least twice a week. Nasir writes his brother letters and they talk on the phone only a few times a year but he tries to avoid thinking about how the war may claim his brother’s life and put an end to their haphazard correspondence. Indiana Jones is the reason Agron chose to study archaeology but he is still glad he did because he loves being outdoors and doesn’t mind working with a shovel in the rain. Nasir is a cat person, Agron loves dogs. There is nothing that gets Agron off faster than Nasir’s dirty talk, except for another use of his tongue maybe, and Nasir has come to accept that he has to wear scarves permanently. Luckily for Agron, there is no spot on Nasir’s neck that isn’t erogenous, and he is encouraged to take advantage of it. Nasir has not told him yet, but he really thinks that he is addicted to Agron’s cock. 

 

***

 

“What happened to you?” Naevia asks at Nasir’s heartfelt groan as he bends down to retrieve the milk from the fridge.

“Agron.”

Naevia grins. “I thought I heard a noise last night. Didn’t expect it to be the sound of you breaking.”

Nasir shows her the two fingers that matter, decides that tea can wait, and gingerly sits down on a chair. 

“We all make sacrifices.” He grins at her, shifts a little in his chair and finds that it isn’t too bad.

“What sacrifices? Morning, Naevia!” Agron says, too chirpy. He is a morning person, whereas Nasir _deals_ with mornings. 

“Nasir’s ability to move,” Naevia replies. “I’ll come by the shop, later, by the way. We need to catch up on Agron.”

“I’m right here,” Agron says. “Tea, Nasir?”

“Gods, yes. And toast.”

“That’s the point, Agron.” Naevia gets up. “Time for work. See you later.” She rocks her new haircut, a perfectly-styled half-mohawk, which she got on a whim the day before. 

“Are you okay?” Agron asks Nasir. 

“Define ‘okay’,” Nasir says, smiling. “I can walk.”

Agron blushes. “You should have said something.”

“I didn’t mind at the time. I still don’t. Just…tea, please!”

Agron rolls his eyes and laughs, smug and embarrassed in equal shares. Two minutes later Nasir has steaming hot tea in front of him. Barely a day goes by on which one of them does not stay the night at the other’s place, and Agron’s bought the bread they are about to eat (which he refuses to call anything but ‘toast’ because it does not meet his German standards). Living with a group of fitness-obsessed health nutters, Agron occasionally cheats when he’s at Nasir’s, and so he thickly coats his slice of bread with Nutella. 

It is just as well that Nasir is sore because they’re going to spend the night apart. He’s going to meet with Cas because Nasir doesn’t like neglecting his friends and Agron doesn’t like Cas. They have met once and Agron had been…aloof. Both Cas and Agron seem to be jealous of each other but Agron is much worse at not showing that Cas is getting to him, which is why Nasir has decided to keep them separate for now. Nasir does not particularly like the situation but Agron gets along well with all of his other friends, and he does not want to force the issue.

It is a slow day at the shop and Nasir does a bit of an inventory of the condoms – sorting out the ones that go out of date in less than six months – when Naevia makes good on her promise. She brings him lunch, too. 

“Gratitude,” Nasir says before stuffing his face with the contents of his Asia noodle box. It’s got creamy peanut sauce and Nasir is in _heaven_.

“Don’t mention it,” Naevia says, amused. “You really love that peanut sauce, don’t you?”

“Gods, yes.”

“Anyway, Crixus asked me to pierce his dick.”

Nasir snorts creamy peanut sauce and then does a good job at choking on noodles. Naevia vigorously pats him on the back.

“Don’t!” Nasir manages to cough out. “How….how dare you…ruin peanut sauce for me?”

Naevia remains eerily poised and hands him a bottle of water. “I love my job, and Crixus asking me is kind of hot and it’s a display of trust, but then…I don’t really want him to think of me as someone who sticks needles in his cock, you know?”

Nasir sadly eyes his noodles and bids them goodbye. “Right, er, I can see how this could be a turn-off. Have you talked to him?”

“He sprang this on me last night. He really loves the new haircut and so he wants to try something new, too.”

After gulping down a few mouthfuls of water, Nasir has sufficiently recovered to feel slightly sympathetic for these two lunatics. “Is he aware that a piercing is slightly more permanent than a haircut?”

Naevia laughs. “You know what he’s like,” she says fondly.

“What has he been thinking of getting?”

“An apadravya. Only the most challenging and painful for my man,” Nasir replies dryly. She looks torn between pride and horror. The mental pictures in his head Nasir will never get rid of. “Healing takes forever though.”

“We all make sacrifices.” Nasir smirks, repeating his earlier words, and Naevia throws a condom package at his head.

 

***

 

The music is cringe-worthy and the bar is full of posh tossers but the cocktails are the best in London, or so Cas claims, and Nasir has to admit that his is pretty damn tasty. 

“I’m surprised you showed. Ever since the German invasion you’re no fun,” Cas says, pouting. 

“I wish you two would get along.” 

“You’re too hot for him, Nasir, and he makes you boring.”

Nasir rolls his eyes. Cas has always been flirty with him, flirty is his default state, but it’s gone through the roof since Nasir told him about Agron. 

“So you want to spend the whole night talking about Agron?”

Cas grins sheepishly. “Nah. I’m sorry. It’s just that you never seem to have any time these days.”

“I’ve got plenty of time, and if you two pulled it together, you’d see more of me and I’d see more of you,” Nasir says, assuaging. 

“There’s a Halloween party at The Roman Republic this Saturday night. Trick or Twink,” Cas says, changing the topic. His dark eyes challenge him to say anything but no. Why does everything have to be so complicated? Nasir hates letting any of his friends down. 

“I already promised to go to Mira’s party.” Nasir admires Mira. She is Agron’s only female flatmate _and_ Spartacus’s ex, but they did not bite each other’s heads off in the wake of their breakup and she’s got all the guys under control. She even got them to _make_ organic apple wine and, judging from the amount of decorations and heavy bags of sweets she’s dragged up the stairs over the last week, Nasir is convinced that it is going to be a great party. And if he is honest with himself, it is more than the previous commitment that makes him say no to Cas. He likes spending time with Naevia and Mira, likes Spartacus’s strategic plans for outings to the park, likes listening to Gannicus’ outrageous stories and Crixus’ incessant teasing of Agron. And most of all, he likes having Agron’s arm resting possessively on his shoulder, the man a constant presence by Nasir’s side. It can be a bit much, Agron’s possessive streak, but it also makes Nasir feel wanted and valued, and he knows that this is a bit fucked up, but he is an orphan and he’s got issues. 

“At Agron’s,” Cas states unnecessarily. 

“Yes,” Nasir says, pushing his chin out defiantly. 

“Well, if you change your mind, Trick or Twink, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“That’s all right, man!” Cas slings an arm around his shoulder and if the hope of Nasir’s changing his mind can cheer Cas up, then that’s good enough for Nasir. Cas buys a round of strawberry margaritas and tells him about the latest blokes he’s pulled, and goes into excruciating, hilarious detail of their sexual prowess in a way that has Nasir in stitches. That’s what has been missing and Nasir relaxes and buys the next round, and it is far after midnight when he finally stumbles home.

It is too fucking early when Nasir is woken up by his phone ringing _loudly_. 

“Hmph!” 

“Morning! Are you are right? I tried calling you last night and --”

“Agron, slow down! ’m half-’sleep, what?” Bleary-eyed, Nasir tries to wake up enough to make sense of Agron’s rambling. Something about a friend and his brother and, nope, he gives the fuck up when he sees that it’s 6:18 am. 

“Sorry, listen! _Listen_ , Agron! I’m….fuck, ’m still drunk and…my brain’s not ready for crisis mode. I’ll call you later…just, please. I’m no good right now.” 

Two hours and as many cups of builder’s tea later, Nasir calls Agron back.

“How much do you hate me for hanging up on you?” he says in greeting.

Agron huffs a laugh into the phone. “It’s all right. Good night then?” He sounds tense.

“Fucking strawberry margaritas, they look so innocent; I didn’t see it coming. And now I feel like my body exudes the wretched stuff. Even my tea tastes like bloody strawberry margaritas.” 

“Nasir.”

“Right. Sorry, there was something you needed to tell me.”

“I do but I’m about to meet my supervisor.”

“Shit, sorry. Give me a ring later then,” Nasir suggests. He is not going to win the Boyfriend of the Day award the way this is going.

“Can you come over tonight?” Agron still sounds off and Nasir gets a sinking feeling in his stomach that has only partially to do with too much tea and too little food. 

“Yeah, sure.”

The rest of the day is an awful strawberry margarita-induced mess. Nasir cuts himself on a stack of receipts, hits his head on the ladder in the back, and finally spills his lunch – tomato soup – over the counter and, of- _fucking_ -course, his T-shirt. Luckily he has brought a jumper, too, and quickly changes into it. This day can only get worse, he thinks, and then it does. A horde of French school kids invades The Spunky Corner, all of them giggly and loud, and Nasir has to be everywhere at the same time, trying to shoo them out. There is of course no teacher in sight because that would make his hung-over life too easy. When he’s finally managed to drive all of them out and pick up all the items on the floor, he collapses into his chair, wondering whether he should laugh or cry. 

Agron is in a state of restless agitation when Nasir arrives at his door. He swoops down on him and Nasir is pulled into a desperate off-centre kiss. Agron feels solid and warm in his arms and Nasir is only now aware of how freaked out he has been all day, how utterly terrified that Agron might leave him. Two months, they have only been dating for two months, and, after some NHS therapy he knows that sometimes but not always people leave, it’s not his fault, and yet…but Agron is kissing him and something is wrong but it’s not _him_ , and so Nasir breaks the kiss, rests his head against Agron’s chest and lets out a shuddering breath.

“Nasir?” Agron sounds worried, feels worried.

“I’m okay, sorry,” Nasir says, giving Agron his most reassuring smile. Agron has made him a tuna sandwich, which further serves to soothe Nasir’s overwrought nerves. They lean against the kitchen counter, but Agron is hovering, and Nasir cannot fucking eat anything.

“Agron, you are driving me round the bend. Just. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Okay, so since you were off having a night of drunken revelry with Castus, I used that time to catch up with some of my friends from home,” Agron starts. “And then my mate Totus called me on Skype and blabbed that my brother’s coming for a surprise visit this weekend. Duro loves Halloween, I should have seen this coming.”

“Wait, what? Halloween?” 

“Yeah, it’s not a big thing in our part in Germany and Duro is just obsessed with it. For some reason the fool thinks it is going to be a big deal in London.”

“Mira would agree,” Nasir says, absent-minded, because it is only two days until the weekend when Duro will come and visit. Dreadlocks Duro who is more cute than sexy and who means the world to Agron. But of course Duro is in the dark about Nasir’s existence. Or maybe Agron mentioned him along with Spartacus, Naevia and Crixus, a friend of many. Nasir has not given it any thought before, why would he, with Agron being openly affectionate around Nasir’s friends and his own. But ‘openly affectionate’ is not going to be an option with Duro around.

“So you’re saying that your brother is going to be here this weekend and you’re freaked out because...?”

“Because of Mira’s party. I would drag my brother somewhere else but I’d have a hard time explaining why we can’t stay here.”

“Right. What…what does that mean for…me?” Nasir nearly asked ‘us’ but there is no ‘us’ in this, because ‘us’ means Duro and Agron. 

“Nasir, I don’t…I don’t know. I’ve never been in this situation,” Agron says in a small voice. “Spartacus said that I either tell him or not be in the same room with you because my face is allegedly an open fucking book and there is no way I could pretend not to be in love with you, but I don’t want to fucking pretend that you don’t exist, how could I, and --”

“Agron!” Nasir interrupts his rambling, his heart in his throat. “Stop, just…stop.”

Agron blinks and Nasir can see he’s upset and terrified and, _fuck the gods_ , Spartacus is right. But this is not what made him interrupt. He takes a step forward and puts a hand on Agron’s chest. 

“You talked to Spartacus about this?” is what he asks but not what he wants to say. Agron looks down to where Nasir’s hand rests, and his eyelashes flutter.

“Spartacus is better at, er, making dispassionate decisions.” 

“I’d call bullshit on that,” says Mira and carries pumpkin garlands into the kitchen. 

Nasir drops his hand and takes a step back, staring. 

“And you’re being an idiot, Agron. It’s a fancy dress party.”

“Wha—have you been eavesdropping?” Agron asks angrily.

“No, I was putting up decorations in the living room and I couldn’t help overhearing you. I’m not sorry because you don’t see the wood for the trees,” Mira replies, unperturbed. “You’re making a bigger deal out of this than it has to be. Just put some effort into your costumes and you keep your hands off Nasir for one night, and your brother will be none the wiser. You ought to tell Crixus not to call him your boy though.”

Nasir looks on, bemused. This day is just too fucking much. 

“Now be a dear and put that end up there,” Mira goes on and pushes the end of the garland into Agron’s hand. 

“Wouldn’t want to spoil your party,” Agron says sarcastically but does what he is told. Of course he does not even have to go on tiptoes to fix the garland up. 

Mira ignores his snark and merely puts a hand on Agron’s back. “Wouldn’t be a party without you guys,” she says softly. “And Nasir, you’re like our sixth flatmate, don’t you dare be a no-show!”

“Got it.” Nasir really, really likes Mira. She rolls her eyes at Agron and with that she disappears back into the living room and they hear her rummaging through wrapping and cardboard. 

“She knows then,” Nasir states after a pause.

“I think Spartacus told her some and then we got close over the last few weeks, late-night meetings in the kitchen and all. She’s been holding up quite well but they were together for nearly two years, and then she started listening and she’s really good at that and please eat that tuna sandwich, you look starved.” Agron is prattling away again.

“Agron, I won’t come if you think that it is a bad idea. You’ve been honest with me and it’s not as if not going to one party is going to kill me. How long is your brother going to stay?”

“I don’t know, it’s a surprise visit, remember? Sur-fucking-prise.” Agron’s pacing around the kitchen. “ _Verdammt_ , Duro! I’ve missed my idiot brother but of course I want you here. Naevia is going to be here and you already invited your friend, Sura, and Crixus is going to bring his fucking Gauls, there is going to be a full house. Mira is right, we can pull this off.”

Nasir nods and smiles at him, and finally eats the sandwich, which, _holy shit_ , is a godsend after a day of coffee and three spoonfuls of tomato soup. 

He stays the night because, no matter how fraught his nerves and chaotic his feelings are, there is comfort in touch and Agron’s makes him feel good, more at peace. Duro brings reality with him, a reality that has so far been removed from Nasir’s mind. Blood is thicker than water, especially Agron’s and Duro’s, and, after two months, Nasir knows Agron well enough to hazard the guess that he would always choose his brother’s happiness over his own. He chides himself for being melodramatic. This was sprung upon Agron as much as him, and if Agron is ever to come out to his parents and brother, it has to be on his own terms. The mere thought of abandoning Mira’s party and going out with Cas instead is tempting – there would be fewer occasions for near heart-attacks and foot-in-mouth moments that come so easily at parties with home-made booze and too much sugar – yet it would upset Agron and carry the aftertaste of undeserved punishment. 

“You’re thinking really loudly,” Agron says into the dark. 

“Pot, kettle.”

“What?”

“It’s a saying. The pot calling the kettle black. Means you can talk,” Nasir explains. 

Agron huffs a laugh. “I guess.” His fingers trace a pattern on Nasir’s arm as they fall back into silence. 

“Nasir.”

“Hmm?” 

“When Totus told me that Duro would come and visit I was…I was more worried about how you’d react than anything else.”

“I’m not mad,” Nasir says after a while.

“You would have every right to be,” Agron tells him, a bitter note to his voice that Nasir does not like one bit.

“Did you mean it?” Nasir asks, a bit too forcefully and without thinking.

“What?” Agron sounds confused.

“You said you couldn’t be in the same room with me without giving away that you’re --”

“In love with you? I am. And if that’s too fucking soon, tough luck. Nasir, I --”

But Nasir is already kissing him, lucky enough to capture Agron’s mouth in this goddamn darkness. It has been a really long, confusing day and there is so much pent-up anxious energy in the pit of his stomach, curling and twisting, and then there is Agron, all solid muscles and defined angles and, _fuck_ , his mouth. Nasir likes the way Agron kisses. He is in it for the kiss, not where it leads to, even if his interest pokes hard and heavy into Nasir’s hipbone. Nasir has kissed his share of people and he knows that not many put all they have into the slide of tongue on tongue, the touching of lip, the teasing nip of teeth on sensitive flesh. Nasir loves kissing Agron because he allows it to mean something. 

“Aaah,” Agron gasps when Nasir rolls his hips to create the friction they both seek. 

“Can you…just, please, switch the light on. I want to see you.” 

Agron stretches to reach the lamp on his bedside table and it takes a moment of fumbling in the dark before the room is filled with the yellowish dim light of an old bulb. Agron blinks, his pupils huge, green eyes tinged almost black. 

“Hey,” Nasir says softly. “That’s better.”

“Nasir.” He is used to Agron’s mispronouncing his name by now, and it shows how far he is gone that he thinks it special, the way Agron fails to say the hard _s_. “I don’t want you to thi--. You are…Nasir, I--” Nasir does not let him finish, nips and sucks and laps away the words so that he can keep them. 

He palms Agron’s bulge and smiles into the hissed gasp that escapes his mouth. Words can make and break a man but so can touch, and Nasir is exhausted from worry and relief and love and he just really needs to make Agron feel, make them both feel, that they belong together. Words can wait. Hovering, he runs his hands down Agron’s chest, pulls down his boxer briefs, somehow holding onto the kiss, until he has to let go. 

Releasing Agron’s lower lip, Nasir looks into his eyes, willing him silent, before he sucks kisses onto Agron’s neck, down the hollow of his throat, against his collarbones. He kisses a trail down his chest and stomach, tongues the tender skin above his hipbones and presses wet, sucking kisses onto the inside of his thighs, venerating skin and flesh. Agron’s hand is entangled in his hair, the other stroking his shoulders, and when Nasir looks up he sees green eyes watching his every move. Nasir keeps his eyes trained on him as he licks the whole length, which is hot and pulsing against his tongue. A shuddering breath and trembling fingers are his reward. And then Nasir is sucking the cock into his mouth and Agron’s eyelids flutter shut and he lets his head fall against the pillow. It is a familiar feel, a well-known taste and Nasir knows what Agron likes, what makes his loins tense and his grip tighten. As Nasir swallows him down and cups his balls, Agron lets out a broken moan. Nasir watches the vein, that tell-tale vein on Agron’s neck, as he’s getting closer, his whole body strained and attuned to Nasir’s touch. There is the salty taste of precome, the trembling muscles of his thighs, and Nasir sucks harder, enjoying the rhythmic wet slide of Agron’s cock against his tongue. It’s fucking hot, watching Agron, because he gives himself over completely, legs spread and loins trembling from the effort of not thrusting upwards. 

“Nasir, I --” Agron manages, his voice _wrecked_ , and it is only then that Nasir notices how hard he is himself from teasing, sucking, claiming. When Agron’s orgasm hits, Nasir swallows around the contracting length and drinks in Agron’s low drawn-out groan. The roots of his hair hurt where Agron gripped too tightly yet Nasir is a bit smug and really fucking turned on. After one last lap of his tongue that wrings another moan out of Agron, he lets go of the softening cock and rests his chin on Agron’s thigh. At Agron’s satisfied, awed smile, Nasir feels his heart seize in his chest. 

“ _Fuck_ , Nasir.”

“Hold on to that thought,” Nasir demands, returning the smile. And then he crawls up Agron’s long, toned body and kisses his neck and tells him how he wants to feel him and come on his cock, and Agron shudders and pulls him into a fierce kiss and Nasir gives himself over to feeling wanted. 

 

..to be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my dearest beta, frelnik, who is a real trooper for agreeing to beta a story that keeps on growing.


	4. meaning to stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is where it turns angsty, I guess?

Nasir wakes to Agron’s having him by the chin and asking with a wry smile, “Morning. Am I allowed to use words again, little man?” 

Nasir’s grin is sleepy and soft around the edges, as he swats Agron’s hand away. “I’m not little, you’re just freakishly tall.” He stretches and glories in the soreness of his muscles and the memories of what caused it. 

Agron, who’s hovering over him with a fond smile, leans down for a kiss, brief and soft, and says, “I love you.” Nasir blinks, breath catching as the words hit him. Then Agron leans back and laughs, shaky. “ _Scheiße_ , that’s weird, saying it in English. It’s like in a film or something.” 

Nasir is still recovering, his sleep-addled brain shocked into alertness. Agron as good as said it last night but hearing it now that the drama of the day before has passed is something else entirely. It feels more real in the light of day and Nasir looks at his half-dressed German boyfriend, the small, pink hickey on his chest (a normal love bite, not a gladiator-sized bruise of death), the drops of water clinging to his shoulder where he hasn’t towelled himself dry properly, and his all-too-open face. He props himself up on his elbows and fights back the urge to lick off those droplets. This may be Nasir’s last chance to tell him before Duro and a world of awkwardness arrive, and Nasir cannot imagine not wanting to wake up to Agron’s too-damned-cheerful morning self, so of course he says that he loves him back. And Agron smiles, brilliantly, boyish dimples and all, and Nasir’s stomach does summersaults again.

 

***

 

Duro arrives later that day, much later. Agron texts him that his idiot brother has booked the cheapest flight that lands in Luton near midnight and the smile Nasir has been wearing all day broadens into a grin; he can just imagine the ribbing Agron has given his brother. 

“You’re disgusting,” Naevia comments. They spend a rare evening together, just the two of them. There are costumes to be sorted out, cupcakes to be made, and a bottle of rosé that needs to be emptied. “What do you think?”

Naevia is going to go as the Tooth Fairy and if Nasir was a child he would be terrified. She’s glued plastic teeth on a black dress and just finished painting the teeth for her necklace with red nail polish. 

“No one could say you’re not honouring the spirit of Halloween,” Nasir says, grinning. He’s decided to go classic with a scythe and a black cape – he sucks at arts and crafts so it is just as well that his costume does not require many alterations. And he has always been fond of talking in CAPITAL LETTERS. 

“Don’t you dare be late tomorrow, our make-up needs to be on point,” says Naevia. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Nasir refills her glass. Naevia and wine go together like dolphins and the sea. “Naevia, can you do me a favour?”

His flatmate arches an eyebrow. “Another?” 

“Don’t talk to Duro about me and Agron or Agron playing for my team.”

“You know that you are all I ever talk about,” she replies dryly. And fair enough, neither Naevia nor any of his other friends are gossips. “May I ask why?”

“It’s complex. Agron’s not out to his family.”

“Ah, that’s why he’s not on Facebook.”

Nasir gapes at her, surprised, because he has never even considered that the reason Agron avoids social media is because people could tag him in pictures. “I haven’t thought of that.”

“All right, I will try not to talk about you guys for one evening. Whatever will I do?” Naevia asks with a dramatically look on her face and sips her wine.

“You could talk about sticking needles into your boyfriend’s cock. It’s a Halloween party, you’ll never get another chance at making this sound normal,” Nasir says, grinning. Naevia throws a handful of plastic teeth at him. 

Nasir got a text in the morning, telling him that Duro is a much less agreeable roommate than Nasir because the bastard snores. Nasir texts back that he hopes very much that this isn’t the only difference between them. He also has a text from Sura asking for directions.

When he returns from a busy day at The Spunky Corner – and apparently many Halloween activities require handcuffs, whips and leather corsets – Naevia is on the phone with Crixus who is in the middle of a decoration crisis. 

“Please don’t kill Gannicus,” Naevia says into the phone. “I’ll be there in an hour. Yes, try your best!” Nasir listens, amused, knowing that Naevia is only mildly exaggerating. “Nasir, don’t just stand there, get ready!” 

Half an hour later Naevia, who is wickedly talented with needle and brush, has painted Nasir’s face to go with his costume – a mask of black, white and grey – and has now turned to doing her own makeup. “We are so late.” She groans, probably imagining the many ways in which Crixus could lose his temper. Maybe they should take cleaning agents to cover up the murder that may have happened because they are late. Bleach and cupcakes, the dynamic duo.

“Crixus will forgive you,” Nasir tells her while putting the cupcakes they made the night before into a container. They go with the Tooth Fairy theme (too many of those will definitely result in the loss of a few teeth) and Nasir knows that they’re pretty damn tasty. 

“Me, yes. It’s you I am worried about,” she yells from her room. Nasir watches bemused as she hops into the bathroom on one leg, the other entangled in a pair of tights. 

In the end they are only half an hour late. Crixus’s fellow Frenchmen have already arrived and Nasir can hear that they share a taste for bawdy songs. The house looks amazing, with the hall being decorated like a cave and the kitchen having been transformed into a witch’s kitchen, with three cauldrons holding different kinds of liquid chocolate – Mira’s idea of a Halloween chocolate fondue. Since it is also Spartacus’s domain, there are dried and fresh fruits but hardly any sweets to dip, the only exception being a bowl of marshmallows. Bundles of herbs are interwoven with the pumpkin garlands, and plastic bats are hanging from the ceiling. A big pot filled to the brim with apple wine is adorned with rubber spiders and other insects. The living room has been turned into an abandoned sanatorium (with a sofa) and even the loo is a mad scientist’s laboratory. _Bad Moon Rising_ is playing in the background.

“Mira, these are the best Halloween decorations I have ever seen,” Nasir gushes, when Mira finally appears, carrying a tray with their Tooth Fairy cupcakes. Her version of a witch costume would terrify the Slutty Witch version that is widely available in all the shops. He is impressed by the effort she put into it.

“Thanks, Nasir,” she replies, clearly delighted. “I wouldn’t have recognised you if it wasn’t for your voice. Did Naevia do your makeup?” 

“She did.” 

“Mira, where do I put the ice?” Agron’s voice sounds from the kitchen and Nasir feels a surge of adrenaline. He hopes that no one will fuck up and cause Agron to have a nuclear meltdown. 

Mira rolls her eyes and pushes the tray into Nasir’s hands. “Here, put this on the table, I’ll have to explain to the geniuses I live with where one puts ice.” 

He does as he is asked and just when he wonders what he is to do with himself, his phone buzzes; Sura has arrived. On the way to let her in Nasir has to pass through the kitchen, where he very nearly has a heart attack because Gannicus and Crixus are the other two witches in Mira’s vision of ‘MacBeth in the kitchen’, and Agron and Duro are two bloodied gladiators. They wear what one could call a minimalist costume. Agron is holding six bags of ice and looks disturbingly hot covered in blood…and carrying six bags of ice. The hilt of a sword is sticking out of Duro’s belly and he looks too happy and delighted to be scary. His dreadlocks go surprisingly well with the costume. When Agron spots Nasir, he smiles warmly. And then Nasir is off into the hall, glad that the level of awkwardness is acceptable, and desperately trying not to think of all the things he would like to do to Agron underdressed as a gladiator. 

“Hey,” says Sura. 

“Come on in! You’re a --?”

“Banshee. Wow, your friends aren’t kidding when they throw a Halloween party!” Sura exclaims, impressed. 

“Mira is the evil mastermind and we are her minions. Some more eager than others, right, Duro?” Crixus says as he passes them with a stack of plastic cups. Naevia bounces down the stairs behind him, nodding a greeting to Sura.

Duro resembles an excited, oversized puppy with a sword sticking out of his middle rather than a minion, but Crixus has a point. A tiny part of him feels the sting of jealousy at everyone’s familiarity with Agron’s brother but he quickly silences it. 

“I brought some absinthe,” Sura tells Nasir. He knows it is going to be the good stuff and probably wasted at a party. 

“Let’s get it into the kitchen.”

“Absinthe!” Gannicus yells and swoops down to kiss Sura on the cheek. Sura, who has never met Gannicus in general and Gannicus dressed as a witch in particular, yelps in surprise. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Naevia pushes two cups of apple wine into their hands and Nasir must admit that it tastes delicious. It is deceptively sweet and fragrant, which masks its strength – a massive hangover is imminent. 

“My grandmother used to make wine like this in her garden, always when there was a new moon,” Sura tells him. “She had a lot of superstitions. She also read the cards.”

“Like a medium?” Nasir asks.

“She said it ran in the family.” Sura rolls her eyes. “It’s nonsense of course. It’s like saying, ‘The next man coming through this door is my one true love.’” She snorts derisively. And then Spartacus steps into the kitchen, dressed up as the Dread Pirate Roberts and Nasir is sure that time stands still for a moment, at least for Spartacus and Sura, who just stare at each other. 

“Sura, this is Spartacus,” he says helpfully.

“That is not my name,” Spartacus replies absent-mindedly. Right, he is busy staring at Sura.

“Whatever, man,” says Gannicus. 

“Hi.” Sura smiles. Spartacus smiles back. Nasir watches them and decides that he is no longer needed. He takes a step back and refills his cup with their home-made apple wine. Duro, who, at this moment, barges into him, spills half of it on Nasir’s cloak, which is thankfully black. 

“”Whoa, oops! I mean, sorry! I didn’t see you there.” Duro smiles, abashed, and looks faintly like Agron.

“It’s okay. Just don’t bargain with me when your time has come,” Nasir says wryly. 

Duro stares for a moment and then breaks into laughter. “Good one! Hey, I’m Duro.”

“Nasir.” 

“Here, let me refill that for you,” Duro offers and exuberantly grabs his cup, spilling more wine in the process. 

“Duro! Der Wein ist zum Trinken und nicht zum Baden da!” Agron barks from the door to the living room. Agron’s costume might be Nasir’s undoing and he is infinitely glad for his own covering up any bodily reactions. 

“Sorry,” Duro mumbles.

“I’ll get you some paper towels,” Agron says to Nasir, his voice as low as the music and chatter around them allow. 

“My brother is such a nag,” Duro complains as soon as Agron is out of sight. “I’m really sorry though. Hey, how do you know these guys?”

“I’m the Tooth Fairy’s flatmate. Naevia is Crixus’s girlfriend,” Nasir replies, indicating them with a nod. He should have held on to his scythe because a plastic cup was clearly not a reliable prop. 

“Here you are.” Agron hands him a roll of paper towels. Their hands brush and Nasir steals a look at him. His face is carefully blank but Nasir can see that he is tense. Well, so much for acceptable levels of awkwardness. 

“Gratitude, but it’s really no big deal.” Nasir nods his thanks when Agron also gives him another cup of apple wine. He couldn’t give less of a fuck about his damp cloak right now but dutifully dabs at it with a paper towel for a bit.

“Naevia is the one doing piercings, right? What do you think, should I get one? I always wanted a nipple piercing,” Duro rambles on, oblivious to Nasir’s choking on apple wine. Fuck the gods, that boy is of a form!

“Ich tacker sie dir gleich an deinem Kostüm fest, wenn du so weitermachst,” Agron tells his brother sharply. 

Duro sticks out his tongue. “Spaßverderber.” 

“I’ll just, er --”

“Nasir!” Mira has him by the elbow and drags him into the living room before Nasir has time to blink. 

“Gods, I owe you,” he groans. 

“No problem. Agron looked like he was going to explode any second. How did you get in the middle of this?”

“Duro ran into me and spilt some wine on my cloak. And then Agron went all Costume Police on him and then they started in German and I lost track of what was going on.” 

Mira pats his arm. “There, there.” _The Killing Moon_ is playing and Nasir grins at the absurdity of it all. 

“Here, I found your scythe. You might need it before the night is over.” Mira hands him the scythe, the grin on her face betraying the fact that she is enjoying this entirely too much. 

Before Nasir can say anything, Crixus’s friends start singing _My Cock Rages On_ in loud and horribly dissonant voices. It is high time for a sugar knockout, so Nasir grabs a cupcake. It has a gooey caramelly core and Nasir sighs blissfully as he licks his fingers clean. 

“Who is this?” Mira suddenly asks. She has spotted Spartacus and Sura, who are cooped up on the windowsill, evidently not minding the closeness. 

“My friend, Sura,” says Nasir. He does not like the pained look on Mira’s face. Sooner or later life was about to happen. It is just really bad timing and much too soon for Mira, as it appears. Mira turns to Nasir and valiantly tries to banish the hurt from her eyes. 

“She seems to be getting on well with Spartacus.”

Nasir nods, helpless. But Mira is unwilling to let the night be ruined by this, and soon they laugh and talk nonsense with two of her friends. 

The night continues to shift from entertaining to awkward and Nasir tries his best not to be gauche. His efforts are not always blessed with success. When he is walking past Duro, who is discussing piercings with Naevia, the man gets a hold of his arm. Duro’s cheeks are tinged pink from alcohol and his eyes are bright and excited. 

“Nasir, right? Okay, so Naevia tells me you have a nipple piercing and I’m planning on getting one myself, so what do you think, left or right or both, and does it hurt?”

Nasir narrows his eyes at Naevia, who is doing a bad job at holding back her laughter. He really, really does not want to discuss any kinds of piercings with Agron’s baby brother, but now he has the choice between playing along or ruining Naevia’s fun with this gullible boy. Furtively, Nasir scans his surroundings, hoping to silently communicate his panic to Agron, but of course his favourite gladiator is nowhere to be seen. 

“Um.” Nasir is so very grateful that his face is covered in a shitload of paint. 

He decides that drowning in apple wine might be a good option when Duro ads, “Can I see it?” Nasir’s arm is still held by Duro and Nasir wonders hysterically whether Agron would be cross with him for using his scythe to get free.

“Nasir, were you looking for Agron?” Naevia asks, finally cottoning on to his genuine discomfort. “He’s over there.”

“Gratitude! Excuse me.” Nasir tears himself free a little too forcefully. As he pushes his way past Gannicus and Pollux, Agron’s eyes find him. 

“Please don’t tell me he’s doused you in more wine!”

“No, now he wants to inspect the nipple piercing Naevia told him I have,” Nasir replies. Agron’s groan is heartfelt and inwardly shared by Nasir.

“Fratricide may be the only way,” Agron says glumly. 

“It’s fine. I just didn’t expect so much enthusiasm or, er, interaction.” Nasir bites his lip and tastes paint and apple wine. All of a sudden, Agron’s eyes widen and there is a pained look on his face.

“Agron!” A hand clamps down on Nasir’s shoulder accompanied by the voice of Agron’s brother. “Stop monopolising Death. Or would that be _the little death_?” His own drunken cleverness makes him cackle and Nasir cannot help it, Duro is a human steamroller with no social filters whatsoever, but he is strangely endearing. He can see why Agron is so intensely protective of him. 

“Your brother is all yours,” Nasir says, deliberately misunderstanding Duro, and brushes past Agron on the way to the loo. His makeup is a tad smudged in places but Naevia has done a fantastic job; he looks terrifying and nothing like himself. It does wonders for his rapidly beating heart. Of course this is silly. Duro has seen him only once and there is no way he would recognise him under all this face-paint. But Nasir isn’t fond of deception and they _are_ deceiving Duro, who matters to Agron, a lot, and so of course Nasir wants to get to know him. They are about the same age, Duro and Nasir. He would enjoy all the banter and the teasing on any other day but here, tonight, Nasir is playing a role he must not comprise without the cover of drunken silliness and the safety of his costume. It is one thing for Agron to keep their relationship from Duro and for Nasir to stay the fuck away from him, but it is another thing entirely to lie in Duro’s face. He could leave. He _should_ leave. But when he checks his phone he sees that it has only been two hours since he arrived. Nasir is about to put his phone back into his back pocket when it buzzes with a new message. Agron. 

_On a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you hate me?_

Nasir rolls his eyes and huffs, as he writes his reply. 

_No scaling necessary. Just don’t make me run the gauntlet again._

Agron’s reply is almost instantaneous. 

_No idea what that means. I’ll keep my bro on a leash, promise. Don’t leave._

And there it is. _Don’t leave_. Why does his presence matter? Surely Agron can have a good time without stressing about Nasir. Maybe…maybe it is because he wants Nasir to like Duro or, even more importantly, wants Duro to like Nasir. That’s only a little dysfunctional, all things considered. Fucking idiot. And Nasir doesn’t know if he means Agron or himself because he wants to stay, now that Agron’s asked him, despite his better judgement. Nasir feels entirely too sober right now. And angry, at Agron, for having this power over him. A knock on the door startles him out of his musings. 

“Oi, how long is this going to take? I need to take a leak,” Rhaskos voice sounds through the wood. 

“I can do this,” Nasir says into the mirror and the skeletal face looking back at him looks determined. 

“I HOPE YOU ALREADY HAVE!” Rhaskos yells and hammers at the door again. 

Agron has taken Duro to the living room, so Nasir seizes the opportunity to load a plate with fruits – brambles, strawberries and banana slices – and marshmallows and top it all off with the dark chocolate from one of the cauldrons. It smells divine and Nasir needs no excuse for eating chocolate-coated treats. Chocolate dribbles all over his hands and runs down his chin, and Nasir forgets all about troublesome Germans for a moment and swipes his tongue over his lips, angling to lick off the chocolate. 

“Napkin?” The person offering is a tall, handsome vampire unknown to Nasir. 

“Yeah, gratitude.” Nasir takes the napkin and dabs carefully at his chin. 

“You’re really enjoying that chocolate cauldron, hm?” 

“Who doesn’t like chocolate?” Nasir asks defensively. 

“I guess it’s been the death of some,” the vampire says with a charming smile. “I’m Miros, by the way.” 

Nasir finds Miros easy to talk to and, best of all, he is a friend of Gannicus’s and barely knows anyone else. He is half English and half Greek and works at a bookshop Nasir knows quite well. He cannot remember seeing Miros there but then, Nasir does not look like Death normally, either. Nasir keeps them firmly away from discussing what he does for a living because Duro might materialise behind him any second and this is a conversation he does not want to be having. 

“You’re right, by the way, that’s really good,” Miros says whilst eating a chocolate-dipped strawberry. 

“Right? Although I could murder a curry,” Nasir says, grinning. 

Miros gets the reference and chuckles. They make some more food jokes, drink more wine, and it gets a bit flirty. Nasir has no interest in Miros whatsoever, but the shallow gratification provided by a new party friend, who thinks he is clever and good to talk to, is welcome. 

There is a commotion in the living room and Nasir turns to see what the matter is. Gannicus is doing something for which Crixus calls him an idiot but all Nasir can see is Agron’s eyes on him, hurt and angry. Nasir flinches under his gaze, for a moment unsure what this is about. And then Miros puts a hand on his shoulder, asking if Nasir is okay, and Nasir understands all too well from the look on Agron’s face. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Excuse me for just one second,” Nasir tells Miros and gets out his phone.

 _You CANNOT be serious with this_ , he writes angrily and hits SEND. 

Nasir is not even sure where Agron keeps his phone, seeing that his costume is more than revealing, but a moment later his stupidly jealous boyfriend is reading his message and even from the kitchen Nasir can see him flushing crimson. Duro is by his side, possibly asking his brother what the matter is but Nasir is rapidly reaching his breaking point and so he pointedly turns his back and continues chatting with Miros. A few minutes later there is a loud crash from the living room and both he and Miros rush over to find out what has caused it. 

Gannicus managed to break the coffee table and he’s sprawled on his back like a drunken turtle, laughing like a madman. His face is halfway covered by his wig and Nasir now knows that he wears red satin boxer shorts. 

“Insane fuck if ever I’ve seen one,” Crixus says gruffly. 

Gannicus is being helped up by Spartacus and he seems fine, still laughing. Mira shifts through the debris of what used to be their living room table, cursing Gannicus under her breath. Squashed cupcakes and broken bottles are part of the mix. 

“It’s not a party without broken furtinu—fur _ni_ ture.” Gannicus smiles blissfully as if this was his good deed of the day. Miros moves over to him and he and Spartacus push him out of the living room. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the absinthe,” Sura says to Nasir. 

“Don’t worry, this isn’t your doing,” Nasir assures her. 

“Gannicus is like a truffle pig…just with booze,” says Agron. Nasir startles because he has not noticed how close he is. Nasir knows Agron’s need for closeness, for touch, but this is not the time, and he makes it harder than it has to be. Nasir has never had to lie about a relationship before, never had to hide, and it’s increasingly frustrating to not be able to just reach over and take Agron’s hand. Intimacy does that to people, it’s hard not to get into Agron’s personal space because Nasir does it all the time.

“Right, some help, guys?” Mira asks and they turn to help her with the clean-up. Crixus’s friends filter out of the room, intent on partying on in another part of the house. Nasir bustles about busily because it gives him an excuse to avoid talking to Agron or Duro, or rather anticipating what Agron and his brother might do and say, because Nasir is tipsy, annoyed and exhausted. 

“You know what’s weird? Speaking English is so much easier when I’m drunk,” Duro announces. 

“But thinking is hard for you in any language, right, brother?” Agron teases and Nasir smiles in spite of himself. He bites the inside of his mouth to hold it back, that smile.

“Pffft! While you’re busy digging up litter and analysing crappy shards like it’s, I dunno, super important, I at least have a girlfriend.”

“Yes, well done, Duro. An impressive unparalleled feat.” Agron is still his sarcastic self but there is a terse note to it; he wants Duro to shut up. Nasir looks around. Mira has left to get Henry the Hoover and none of the others are in close proximity. 

“But really, Agron. No, it’s…” Duro has the stubborn tenacious look of someone who is too pissed to understand a hint. “Stop being so picky and get yourself a nice Nina, er, girlfriend. I don’t know. Mira’s nice and hot. Like Nina.”

Agron scoffs. “So you want me to find someone to use nipple clamps with?” 

“Nicht das schon wieder. Ich will doch nur dein Bestes!”

“Und das Beste für mich ist meinen Master zu machen, ohne dass mir mein kleiner Bruder Vorträge über mein Liebesleben hält.” 

“Macht ja sonst keiner! Andere Leute studieren auch und haben Beziehungen. Spartacus und Mira zum Beispiel.”

“Lief super! Falls es dir aufgefallen sein sollte, die haben Schluss gemacht.” Agron’s voice is flat and his knuckles white as he grips a splintered table leg, and Nasir wishes he spoke German and understood what the fuck is going on. 

“Umso besser! Das heißt, dass Mira wieder auf dem Markt ist.”

“Mira ist wie eine Schwester.”

“Das hast du bei Saxa auch gesagt.”

“Weil es stimmt. Duro, halt einfach die Klappe, okay?”

“Das sagst du jedes Mal, wenn ich das Thema aufbringe!”

“For good fucking reason!” Agron furiously kicks the remnants of the table they have been picking off the floor and destroys their work of the last ten minutes. Nasir jumps and hisses in surprise because he has of course no idea what set Agron off. And Agron is truly enraged as he stares down at his brother. 

Duro finally does the smart thing and concedes. He ducks his head and implores, “Don’t be like that!” 

“Shut up and stop meddling then!” Agron snaps, his voice raised in anger. Yet the look he throws Nasir before he stomps out of the living room is one of frustration and misery. 

Duro looks deflated but stubborn, still, clinging to the belief that he was right to speak with drunken honesty. He only seems to notice Nasir now, which is not that surprising, seeing that he wears a black cloak and the room is rather dark. 

Nasir gives him a small smile, which, all things considered, probably looks rather disconcerting. “So that escalated quickly,” he blurts. 

Duro chuckles, embarrassed. “Sorry, man.” With a grunt he drops to the floor, not caring that his bare legs and wooden splinters might not be the best combination. “I always talk too much when I’m drunk and Agron…” His voice trails off and his brow furrows as though he is thinking through what exactly Agron is. “Agron’s my big brother. Do you have a brother?”

Nasir nods. “I do. Older, too.”

Duro looks relieved. “Then you know what it’s like. Agron’s a medding, a meddinlin--” He huffs in frustration and tries again. “A _meddling_ pest. That’s what he is. Always all over my life. But I can’t say shit without him blowing up. _Arschloch_.”

But Nasir’s brother has never meddled in Nasir’s life. He is six years older and has always done his own thing. They share a brotherly bond, of course, because they have only had each other, but Firas grew up too quickly after the loss of their parents, the loss cutting him deeper than Nasir, who had been nothing more than a toddler. Firas has always been too far removed, too far ahead of Nasir to be anything more than a person he looks up to and asks for advice. For many years Nasir had felt alone, not like a single child, but someone cut off from his parents and deliberately held at arm’s length by his only sibling. So of course he can see Duro’s point of how frustrating an overprotective brother who continues to treat him as a child must be, but a small part of him wishes that this overprotective brother had been in his life when the love of his mother vanished forever without any acceptable explanation. What is death to a three-year-old after all? Suddenly Nasir needs to get out, away from this party and out of this costume. 

“Hey, Duro, I’m going to head off. Erm, just try not to be too hard on each other, yeah?” The words seem wrong, displaced, because the real Duro is a stranger and not the person he knows from listening to Agron’s stories. But Duro seems preoccupied by thoughts of his own. Nasir dutifully wraps up a black litter bag, tells Mira that he is sorry but had a bit too much sugar and wine, passes Crixus, Miros and Spartacus who’ve successfully manhandled Gannicus into bed, and then he is outside in the crisp autumnal night air and lets out a breath he may have been holding for hours. Walking feels good, even though he is more unsteady on his feet than he would have thought, and Nasir is almost at the tube when he notices that he has lost his scythe once again – along with a few years of his life maybe. 

“Fuck me,” he says under his breath. 

When Nasir arrives at home he deliberates neither charging nor checking his phone, because he has reached the maudlin stage where he feels mostly tired and sorry for himself, but it is a habit he cannot break. He has got a text from Naevia apologising for taking the piercing humour a bit too far. Well, yeah, he could have done without Duro trying to get a good look at his nipples. There are two texts from Agron. 

One is empty, sent too soon, and the other reads _Sorry, I can’t do this_. 

Cold fear runs through him, makes his fingers clammy and his throat seize up painfully. Agron can’t do what? Thoughts are running through his mind so fast they catch and tumble over each other, frightened little animals eating and clawing away at his confidence. This cannot be happening, not when he is drunk and alone and without a chance to talk to Agron and ask what the fuck this even means, and suddenly he cannot fucking _breathe_. And because Nasir has a few anger issues of his own, the cold feeling in his chest _shifts_ , transforms into blinding rage and the lamp flies off his bedside table along with his mobile. The lamp skids over the floor while his phone crashes into the wall. Nasir hisses, the white-hot anger already depleted and replaced by a thumping, hollow pain behind his temples. He does not lose control very often anymore and every time feels a bit like a failure. 

The phone is fucked. The display has a crack and flickers, the damn thing refusing to boot, and even when he finds the back cover he cannot reattach it to the rest because a corner has broken off. The lamp, when he finally gives up on his phone, proves sturdier, even the bulb survived the attack. But of course the lamp would be easier to replace and is not his main means of communicating with his boyfriend. 

“Just fucking _great_ ,” Nasir grinds out, renewed anger swelling up inside him, this time directed at himself. He takes a few deep breaths, counts silently and wills his shaking body to relax, to unclench his jaw, before he undresses with unsteady hands. The way to the bathroom feels longer than usual and he is glad to find that Naevia has left some cosmetic tissues on the basin. The act of cleansing his face turns out to be quite therapeutic and Nasir decides to take a shower, too. He stands under the hot spray for a long time, ignoring his tears, as they mingle with the water and gurgle down the sink. 

 

…tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translashuns:
> 
> _“Duro! Der Wein ist zum Trinken und nicht zum Baden da!”_
> 
> "Duro, the wine's for drinking, not bathing!"
> 
> _“Ich tacker sie dir gleich an deinem Kostüm fest, wenn du so weitermachst.”_
> 
> "I'll be stapling them to your costume if you go on like this."
> 
> _"Spaßverderber!"_
> 
> "Killjoy!"
> 
> _“Nicht das schon wieder. Ich will doch nur dein Bestes!”_
> 
> "Not this again. I just want what's best for you."
> 
> _“Und das Beste für mich ist meinen Master zu machen, ohne dass mir mein kleiner Bruder Vorträge über mein Liebesleben hält.”_
> 
> "And the best for me right now is to focus on my Mphil without having my little brother lecturing me about my love life."
> 
> _“Macht ja sonst keiner! Andere Leute studieren auch und haben Beziehungen. Spartacus und Mira zum Beispiel.”_
> 
> "I see no one else doing it! Other people study and have relationships. Spartacus and Mira for example."
> 
> _“Lief super! Falls es dir aufgefallen sein sollte, die haben Schluss gemacht.”_
> 
> "And that worked out so well! In case you noticed, they broke up."
> 
> _“Umso besser! Das heißt, dass Mira wieder auf dem Markt ist.”_
> 
> "So much the better! That means that Mira is available again."
> 
> _“Mira ist wie eine Schwester.”_
> 
> "Mira is like a sister to me."
> 
> _“Das hast du bei Saxa auch gesagt.”_
> 
> "That's what you said about Saxa."
> 
> _“Weil es stimmt. Duro, halt einfach die Klappe, okay?”_
> 
> "Because it's true. Duro, just shut your mouth, okay?"
> 
> _“Das sagst du jedes Mal, wenn ich das Thema aufbringe!”_
> 
> "That's what you always say when I try to talk about this!"


	5. got to keep running

So Halloween was a bit shit, Nasir decides, as he nurses his first cuppa of the day. His head is throbbing dully with the expected apple-wine hangover of doom. Ashamed and frustrated Nasir eyes the broken phone in front of him. He should not have lost his shit last night. The slip of control is easily explained but not as easily forgiven. He rarely ever slips these days, therapy has taught him ways to cope. Shit happens, friendships end, people leave, he knows all that, he _knows_. After talking and dissecting his past, he knows. 

Unlike Nasir, Firas was an angry child. He had been older when their parents died and felt the loss more acutely. But Nasir often thought, still thinks, sometimes, that Firas is the lucky one because he remembers them. It is easier to describe a loss one can articulate, can tie to memories. Nasir remembers his brother’s seemingly inexplicable fits of rage, coming on with a suddenness and fierceness that rattled Nasir whenever they occurred. They happened less and less until they faded out completely over the years. Firas still has the benefit of memories whilst Nasir only recalls his brother’s anger, his blazing fury. Grieving, for Nasir, was more instinctive, more primal, and his grandmother, a caring elderly lady, never suspected that her love was not quite enough to mend the cracks that his parents’ deaths had left in Nasir’s heart. Balancing Firas’ fury, Nasir was a quiet boy.

His abandonment issues manifested only in puberty, when coming out cost him a good mate, no, his _best friend_ , and instead of letting go he got angry. It was easier, then, to keep people at a safe distance. It was easier, later, when he had learnt all about the source of his anger, to take people home who were more interested in what he could do in bed than in what else he had to offer. Easier not to get too close. 

Nasir avoids talking, hell, even thinking about this because it leaves him vulnerable and raw. Apart from Cas, who went to school with him, none of his friends know about the time he got arrested for, but luckily not charged with, affray, and the other times when he got away. They would understand, they would have supportive words, they would rightly think that Nasir turned the corner, that he is fine. He is. But Agron’s fucked-up family secret shakes his hard-learnt composure, the hard-earned belief in his right to be loved, and Nasir is terrified that Agron already holds such a sway over his feelings, can make him afraid and angry like this. And Agron…Agron loves his brother so much that at twenty-six he denies himself to be out and live a fucking normal life. What if last night he decided that his experimental bout of freedom in London was too risky and, ultimately, not worth it? Words of love ran counter to ‘ _Sorry, I can’t do this._ ’ Of course his family would matter more to him than a man he has known for only two months. Nasir would call him insane if it was otherwise. But Agron does not know that he should not pull shit like that with Nasir, he does not know that Nasir cannot cope rationally with the scare of loss, not when he is drunk, shaken and unsure of what his place in Agron’s heart is. And that is no one’s fault but Nasir’s who did not reciprocate Agron’s confession with a confession of his own. Because he likes to think of himself as whole and healthy, as someone who mastered and rationalised his fears. Yeah, _right_. 

Nasir swallows down the sweetly-sick taste of nausea and clamps his teeth together, locking his jaw. His own fucking fault. And now he will deal with this like a fucking grown-up and not freak out over a text that could very well mean anything. Shit happens, friendships end, people leave, but Agron said. He said that he loves him. Nasir will _not_ overreact; he will act like a sane person. They had all been drunk and things will be fine. Probably. 

Nasir drinks another two cups of tea before he vomits his attempts at rationality down the toilet. 

After that he sticks to water and Aspirin. His throat and eyes feel raw and Nasir is too restless to lie still and too exhausted to be awake. He really tries to get another hour of sleep and buries and fidgets into more comfortable positions that are never restful enough to shut his brain up. He drinks some more water and then puts his earphones on, listening to _Scissor Sisters_ because their camp ridiculousness always cheers him up, until he falls asleep after all. 

It is two in the afternoon when he wakes up again, groggy and more clear-headed, feeling less bruised around the edges. After downing a pint of water he goes for a run and ends up at Cas’s place. Breathless and sweaty, he rings the bell and is greeted with a wide, toothy smile. 

“You look a bit shit, mate,” Cas says when Nasir comes out of his shower. 

“I feel a bit shit,” is Nasir’s reply, as he wrings and towels his hair dry. Cas watches him with a frown and comes to the right conclusion, so Nasir nods, resigned. “Yeah.”

“Damage?”

“Smashed my phone and threw a lamp across the room.”

“Any fallout?”

“None so far. I was on my own.”

“But there might be.”

“Yeah.” There already is. _Sorry, I can’t do this_. 

“Shit.” Cas gets up and fetches something from the kitchen, which turns out to be a plastic container with some of his special cookies. “Help yourself!”

These days, Nasir prefers coping over self-medicating but since he has so far failed spectacularly and his brain is still too hung over to keep pace with Nasir’s inner turmoil, he takes a cookie and chews it slowly. It’s quite good actually. After a while his thoughts decelerate and his brain mellows down the exigent demands on his self-control. It may not have been the most brilliant idea to make this the first meal of the day though. But Cas has lasagne and flapjacks to share, so Nasir makes himself comfortable on Cas’s sofa and allows himself to feel a bit less shit. 

“Better?” Cas asks after a while, when Nasir untangles his damp hair with his fingers, relaxed against the sofa. 

“Lots. Gratitude.” 

“That’s all right.”

Cas knows Nasir well enough to wait, to let him speak when he is ready, so they play Wii and joke around until he is. It kind of spills out of him then and Cas listens. This is a side of him not many people know and the reason Nasir is friends with Cas. Whenever it matters they are there for each other. When Nasir is finished he feels better. He is not surprised that talking helps but it also matters who listens. 

“I’m still in favour of you dropping this closeted German shithead,” Cas tells him. “Yes, yes, I know.” He waves off the first sign of protest. “I don’t think he meant to be an insensitive asshole. Seems like he tried to not let down anyone. And failed. So I suggest you go home, let him know that your mobile isn’t working, I don’t know, text him from Naevia’s, and then have a talk with him when his brother’s gone. Don’t overthink this, Nasir, and trust the bloke not to throw away his shot at being with you.”

_Like I did_ , remains unspoken. 

“You’re right. I knew you’d know what to make of this. Thanks, man.”

“’s all right. Just hang out with me once in a while when the honeymoon is back on, yeah?”

Nasir bites his lip, balancing hope and guilt, and nods. “Promise.”

Cas claps his shoulder and then grins lewdly. “Gladiator costume, eh?” 

Nasir throws his head back and laughs, despite himself. 

 

***

 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Naevia says in greeting, as Nasir steps into their flat after dinner time. “I was getting a bit worried. Why are you ignoring your phone?”

“Jeez, mum. I dropped my phone in the toilet last night. Fucking apple wine.”

“So good yet so bad. I feel you,” Naevia says with a heartfelt groan. She looks a bit pale. “This morning I thought my head would split in two.” She gives him a long look that makes Nasir shuffle uncomfortably. “Everything else all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, catch!” she says and throws her mobile to him. “Text the lunatic that is your boyfriend. His covert operation is in danger because he is worried about you. If his brother wasn’t an adorable puppy with no awareness whatsoever, he’d have caught on by now.”

Nasir nods, once, and sees that Naevia has got about six texts from Agron. “You’re joking?”

“Yeah, and I left their place only two hours ago.” Naevia rolls her eyes. “Were you out all day?”

“Well, I got up at two but then I went for a run and decided to see Cas. We had early dinner or late lunch, whatever you want to call it. Do you want some tea?”

“Yes. Thanks, love.”

Nasir walks into the kitchen because his face feels too hot and he needs a moment. Also, tea! Whilst he waits for the water to boil, he texts Agron, quickly, before he can think too much.

_I’m alive, couldn’t text because my phone drowned in the toilet._

He deletes the _sorry_ that he tries to smuggle into the message several times and sends the damn thing. The reply arrives when Nasir pours the water. 

_Thank the gods! You scared me. I’ll come over once Duro’s left. x_

Nasir writes back as he stirs the tea with his other hand. 

_And when is that?_

The reply comes when he takes the teabags out.

_Fuck, sorry, Tuesday night. He leaves the day after tomorrow._

Nasir heaves a sigh and pours some milk into his cup. Two days aren’t too bad and this will give him time to think. And if Agron was worried to the point of throwing caution out of the window, well, then Cas was right and their relationship is not in jeopardy, and Nasir should chill the fuck out. 

Naevia takes her cup and her phone with a smile and pats the place beside her on the sofa. And after a day of avoiding being in his room by himself, Nasir drops down next to her and spreads the blanket over the two of them. They watch _Man v. food_ , fuck yeah. And then they pig out on greasy takeaway because. 

“You know that you can talk to me about anything, right?” Naevia says when they are too full to move.

“I do.”

“And I’m really sorry about the piercing joke. That was a bit fucked up.”

“It’s all right. Is he going to get one?”

Naevia grins. “He actually is and I am going to do the honours. I booked him in for tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Brave man.”

She gives him an affectionate shove with her foot. 

In the end, he does not have to wait until Tuesday. Monday night Agron is waiting in front of his door when Nasir comes home after work, giving Nasir a near-heart attack because _this_ he really hasn’t seen coming.

“Hey,” says Agron at the same time as Nasir asks if anything is wrong. “I don’t know.” With that Agron holds out his phone. Nasir immediately recognises the number. A message from Castus – _Cas_ , that fucking _meddler_ – says that if he knows what is good for him he will talk to Nasir sooner rather than later. Nasir shrugs, then shakes his head and invites Agron in. They go straight to his room and Nasir drops his bag with groceries and turns to Agron, who pulls him into his arms and buries his head in Nasir’s hair, fingers curling around the nape of his neck. This feels so good that Nasir nearly hiccoughs a sob. He cannot quite suppress a tremor when Agron strokes his back and breathes into his skin. All that bottled-up tension that he has been keeping contained for the last couple of days is scratching at his skin to get out, clawing its way up his throat, and he withdraws from Agron’s embrace before he cannot do so gently anymore. 

“Nasir?”

“Yeah, give me a moment.” Nasir pushes the words out, presses them through his teeth before near-running to the bathroom. He locks the door and turns on the shower just as the first dry, ugly sob escapes his throat. And then there is no stopping it and Nasir slides down the cold tiles next to the loo and tries to control his breathing, to force down the throaty noises that bubble up uncontrollably.

It is over as quickly as it started and with shaking hands Nasir washes his face, then checks himself in the mirror. He looks pale and drawn but steady otherwise. Nasir does not know how he feels. He is glad that Agron came to see him, of fucking course he is, but he is not quite sure whether his nerves are up for what is to come. He fights down the urge to panic, tells himself to man the fuck up, and unlocks the door. 

Agron stands right outside, hovering anxiously. Nasir holds up a hand, stopping him mid-motion. “I’m okay.” 

“Nasir, I’m sorry --”

“Agron!” It shuts him up mid-sentence. They go back to Nasir’s room and Agron emanates worry and nervousness from where he comes to lean against the wall. Nasir rubs his face, exhausted by fucking _everything_ , and then sits down on his bed, leg jittering nervously. Agron waits and Nasir takes a deep breath and just goes for it.

“I didn’t drop my phone in the loo.”

“What?” Agron looks confused. 

“I lied to Naevia and you because I’m not proud of what I actually did, which was smashing it against the wall.” Nasir wrings his hands, stares at them, trying to get this part over with as quickly as possible. “You didn’t do anything wrong, so you don’t have to apologise. Well, apart from your inappropriate display of jealousy, about which we should talk another time. Your text set me off but it was really the whole night being a bit of a clusterfuck of emotions. You had that fight with Duro, then you ran off, and when I got home I had that text saying ‘ _Sorry, I can’t do this._ ’” Nasir looks up and he has no idea what his face looks like because he is all numb.

“ _Oh_.” Realisation dawns on Agron’s face and then he looks like he has been punched and he lets out a pained hiss. “Oh, Nasir. Never this! I meant being in the same room with you and Duro, talking about why I don’t have a fucking girlfriend while the boyfriend I must not tell him about is right there. _Fuck_ , Nasir. Duro can be like a dog with a bone and he kept going and I was really fucking angry and just wanted to let you know why I wasn’t coming back down. I babysat Gannicus for a while.” He is kneeling, now, in front of him, his hands warm on Nasir’s legs. 

“It’s fine. I should have told you this a while ago. Look, let me preface this with a request. I don’t want your pity and I’m not sure I can say any of this when you’re touching me.”

Agron looks reluctant when he lets go but he doesn’t move away from Nasir, just keeps kneeling in front him, and he is so much taller than Nasir that they almost look eye-to-eye. But it is too hard to keep looking at Agron who is so utterly handsome that Nasir stares down at his hands again.

“Gratitude. So…Right.” Nasir’s voice is still a bit raw but he is surprised by how detached he can make it sound when he tells Agron. “I told you that I had no problems coming out I left out the part where everyone accepted it except for my best mate. We were fourteen and he didn’t cope, just called me a fucking pervert and filthy poofter and then never talked to me again. Everyone else was fine so no one really understood why I wasn’t and then my brother left the UK for Syria that year. All this apparently triggered some kind of emotional response connected to losing both of my parents when I was little. I got lost for a while, pushed everyone away. I got a reputation as someone who lashes out, not needing a reason, and I got in a lot of fights. _A lot of fights_. Eventually I got arrested but I didn’t have a record and this was my first offence as a minor so I was sent to see a therapist, which was quite frankly the best thing that could have happened to me. I…it took me a while but I re-learnt how to connect and how to cope with losing people in a normal, healthy way. By the time I started uni everything was fine.” 

This is the very abridged, light version of events and Nasir hopes that he does not have to go into detail, preferably ever. 

“The thing is though, my past relationships, which I know you don’t want to hear about…they were quite straightforward. Ours isn’t, not yet and maybe not ever. I don’t know what this means to you but the thing with me is that cryptic shit like your text after a night of us skulking around your brother…it upset me more than I expected. I know how important Duro is to you and so my mind just jumped to the worst-case scenario. And I know that this is an overreaction, I know that it is irrational and I…I hate that I slipped that night and just stopped short of having a breakdown and refurbishing my room. I don’t want to get back to this, Agron. I’ve worked hard on being where I am today.” 

Nasir looks up to face Agron, Agron who nods and looks very pale and pained and asks with a thin choked voice, “What are you saying? That _you_ can’t do this?”

Nasir reaches out, covering Agron’s hand with his, squeezing tight. “No! Gods, no. But it’s hard for me to trust you when there is something stronger pulling you in another direction. This is stretching your loyalties and my equanimity. Do you want this? Do you want _us_ , Agron, or is it something you stumbled into by accident and now don’t know how to get out of?”

Hope chases over Agron’s face, lightening it up and easing his frown. “There is nothing accidental about this. Nasir, listen! When Crixus ran into us for the first time, I was unsure of what to do, out of habit. But I never planned on lying to anyone here. I just mostly didn’t date in Germany, so it’s not as if my life was one big ruse. At one point people just stopped asking about my love life, well, everyone but Duro. Doesn’t mean they’re not watching me though. I was all right as long as I didn’t know what I was missing. But then I did, and when I came back home during semester breaks and Duro started getting all lovey dovey with Nina, I realised that I was lonely. Fuck, I was _lonely_. So I applied for an Mphil here, just meaning to get a bit of a break from the constant scrutiny, to get away from home, and then I found you. Or maybe Duro found you. Fucking hell, I’ve never been more grateful for his nipple fetish.” Agron huffs a laugh. “So The Spunky Corner was the first sex shop we walked into and Duro, bless his obtuseness, he didn’t even notice that the entire neighbourhood was full of LGBT cafés and clubs. And there you were, confident and obviously getting a twisted kick out of us German idiots being out of our depth, and fuck, you looked so hot that day. You checked me out and then you smiled at me and I just wanted to reach over the counter and kiss you silly. And now that I can and you’re insane enough to put up with me I’m not letting you go.” 

He moves to cup Nasir’s face in his hands, holds him as though Nasir is important, precious, and then Agron’s breath flutters against Nasir’s mouth before he captures it in a kiss. Agron’s lips are soft and wonderfully warm, gentle, venerating even, and Nasir closes his eyes and feels _right_ again. It is pathetic that he is so in love already, that Agron has this hold on him. Nasir can take care of himself, has done so for a long time. For the most part he cherishes his autonomy, gets uneasy when someone gets too close, claims too much. But Agron wrapped himself around Nasir’s life like a blanket. And while Agron’s closet-craziness feeds into his insecurities, the man himself makes Nasir feel loved and desired for who he is, and that is a rare find, something to hold on to. Agron does not hold back, embracing the vulnerability that comes from loving someone, and Nasir finds his artlessness endearing, irresistible. 

“I’m sorry. I promise to never put you in such a position again,” Agron says into the kiss, before sealing his promise with the slow slide of his tongue, and Nasir _wants_. When Agron’s teeth pull at Nasir’s lower lip, pull and suck, Nasir launches, pushes Agron back onto the floor with little finesse, consumed by his need to get closer, skin deep. Agron’s head hits the floor but he immediately hooks one leg around Nasir, pulling him close. 

“Naevia pushed Duro’s appointment back so I had time to come over,” Agron tells him, while his hands slide under Nasir’s T-shirt, pushing it up firmly, hands warm against Nasir’s ribs, his arms. “I told Duro I had to get something from the library and didn’t want to hear him bawl like a baby.”

“So how much time do we have?” Nasir asks, pushing a leg forward to get some leverage. 

“Not enough,” Agron all but growls and finally frees Nasir of his T-shirt. 

Nasir needs this, needs the reassuring press of Agron’s body, his lips on his neck, his cock pressing hard against his thigh. Agron seems to, too, if the way he is clinging to him is any indication. They kiss, open-mouthed and urgent, needy. Agron’s hands roam over Nasir’s body, down his back, almost as if trying to make sure that he _can_ , and then he thrusts up against him. Nasir feels disoriented at the sharp stab of pleasure and somehow, _somehow_ he manages to shift and straddle Agron’s thighs, and tug on his fly. Nasir pants into Agron’s mouth, trying and increasingly failing to get enough air to maintain the fast and messy slide of their tongues. It’s hot and wet and they are clumsier than they usually are. Nasir’s whole body is simultaneously hyperaware and numb with lust. He just _needs_. Abruptly, Agron flips them over, the hard floor feeling really very hard and solid as Nasir hits it with an “oomph”, but the bed is too far away, and Agron’s roughly pulling on his jeans and, oh _fuck the gods_ , the button, ripped right off his trousers, is making a metallic pinging noise as it hits the desk leg.

“That’s one thing I’m not sorry about,” Agron says roughly and drags down Nasir’s jeans together with his pants before doing the same to his own and pulling off his jumper. His cock stands hard and flushed, and Nasir sits up and wraps his hand around it. Agron inhales sharply and crushes down on Nasir until they are flush against each other, hot skin on skin. Nasir squeezes a hand in-between them, wraps it around both of them, at least he tries to, and tugs, starts pulling rhythmically. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” is all Agron has to say before propping himself up on his arms, giving Nasir room to manoeuvre. Freakishly strong as he is, Agron shifts more of his weight onto one arm, freeing his other hand to join Nasir’s. And yeah, that’s hot, both of them jerking each other off, together, slightly out of synch but desperately trying to match each other. Nasir loves the drag of Agron’s cock against his, a bit too dry, not quite slick enough, but good enough to make him squirm and moan and pull Agron close to nibble on his neck. Agron grunts, swaying a bit, and bucks his hips. If his legs weren’t entangled in his fucking jeans, Nasir would cross them around Agron’s hips and never let go. The friction is maddening, the knot of need in Nasir’s loins unfurling and growing until all he can think about is the necessity to come, to find relief. He strains his hips, tugging frantically on both their cocks, and Nasir has given up on kissing or biting and just breathes hotly against Agron’s neck. Agron lets go of their cocks and then has Nasir by the back of his neck, firm and almost painful, and pulls him into a messy kiss, licking inside of his mouth, before pulling back and staring down at him. 

“Look at me! I want you…I want you to look at me when you come,” he manages to say and Nasir grudgingly admires that he is still able to form sentences when Nasir is so clearly beyond words. Agron is not one for dirty talk, so this means something, and Nasir wants to give it to him. So he readjusts his grip, pulls harder. He can feel Agron’s arm trembling, tired from holding himself up, and his face is tight with arousal. Nasir finds it hard to keep his eyes open against the rhythmic onslaught of pleasure and he can feel it, can feel his balls tightening and the curling tension moving downwards, and then, with one last twist of his hand, he is coming in hot white spurts, all the while looking into Agron’s eyes. And Agron kisses him then, eyes still open, and pushes into Nasir’s slickened grip a few more times before he comes with a choked gasp, adding his own spunk to the wetness between them. 

Breathing heavily, they fall apart, skin sticky with sweat against the wooden floor. Nasir’s throat feels scratchy and dry as he sucks in air greedily, mind still completely blown.

“Holy shit, that was hot,” Nasir says when he finally _can_. There are other things they ought to talk about but he has had a couple of intensely draining days, can’t imagine really that Agron fared much better. For now soft kisses and whispers of love along with really fucking hot sex have cleared the air. 

“Yeah.” When Nasir turns his head, Agron smiles at him with dazed eyes, looking exactly like he has just been ravished on the floor of Nasir’s room. And then some. By Nasir. Nasir half-rolls over and strokes his cheek, a soft caress with the back of his fingers, and it puts a more vulnerable look on Agron’s face. Neither of them says it but it is there, fluttering tentatively between them. 

“I have to go,” Agron says reluctantly after another minute of staring and breathing. He does not move, as Nasir drags his thumb over Agorn’s lower lip, which is plump from kissing. 

“Okay.” Nasir lifts his head and looks down, looks at their come-stained bellies, the crumpled jeans bunched up around their ankles, and grins. “You should, um, clean up though.”

Agron thumps him affectionately. They take turns in the bathroom, where Nasir discovers the customary love bite right next to his larynx as well as the impossibility of keeping his jeans up without the button. This is why he can’t have nice things, he thinks wryly. Agron’s fully dressed and ready when Nasir gets back to his room. 

“Are we okay?” Agron asks. And Nasir could be honest and say that nothing will be okay as long as Agron leads two separate lives, but Agron is smart, he fucking knows that, and so did Nasir when he agreed to be with him. 

“Yes, get back to your brother. I would ask you to tell me the piercing story once you’ve heard it but I’m sure I’ll get a detailed report from Naevia.” Nasir rolls up on tiptoes and presses a soft kiss against Agron’s lips. “And thanks for…thanks for coming by.”

“There is hardly anything I wouldn’t do for you, Nasir,” Agron tells him in an utterly serious voice, which leaves Nasir utterly, seriously speechless. 

 

***

 

_You’re an insufferable meddler. Thnx._

That’s the text Nasir sends Cas that night. 

_Shut up. You’re welcome._

That’s the text he gets back. Nasir smiles because he has great friends like that. 

 

***

 

With Duro gone, the honeymoon phase is back on. Nasir tries to make time for Cas, Sura and his other friends all the same. Duro’s visit was a reality check. Nasir could easily get wrapped up in Agron, his presence, his smile, his ridiculous dimples – fuck, he even smells good. But it wouldn’t do. Now there is always a small voice nagging in the back of his mind, reminding Nasir that this is temporary, no matter how nice it feels. 

Nasir’s longest relationship lasted eight months, so he is really no expert on how things are supposed to progress. It does not take an expert or even a clairvoyant à la Sura to predict the probable outcome though. Agron is in London on a one-year course, as in, academic year, which usually ends sometime in the summer. Part of his course is practical, so Agron will be working at an excavation site in February (Agron’s already bitched a lot about the timing since the ground is either frozen or drenched at that time of the year). Either way, it is not enough time to grow and make life-changing decisions as a couple. A relationship like theirs seems less likely to end in anything but a breakup if one partner has not even told his parents that he likes cock. But Nasir is twenty-three and who wants forever at twenty-three? Nasir is great at denial, built most of his life on it, and he has gotten quite good at telling the small voice in the back of his mind to kindly shut the hell up. Some part of him – the part that thinks he deserves it, that is seeking a reason to get angry – not only anticipates the impending breakup but wants it to happen. There is a perverse satisfaction in being vindicated, in proving the therapists wrong. But it is easy to keep that part of him under wraps when Agron looks at him as though he is the solving piece to a particularly challenging puzzle. 

Nasir wants to be. And this is new, this desire to be everything Agron wants him to be. He has never loved anyone enough for it to reach the point where he wants to become a better version of himself. It’s thrilling, exhilarating and utterly terrifying. 

 

***

 

“When are you going home for Christmas?” Nasir asks at the end of November. They are sprawled on his bed; Agron’s leaning against the headboard and Nasir’s head is propped against Agron’s thigh. It’s a Lazy Sunday, the last one before The Spunky Corner hits the Christmas period, and Nasir is determined to finish _The Swimming Pool Library_ today. 

“My mum wanted me to come home as early as possible but I booked a flight for the twenty-first. She complained that it’s late but I want to hit the library as soon as the undergrads are gone. Fucking nuisance, all of them,” Agron says. His hand strokes Nasir’s head, slowly. Every now and then he scratches Nasir’s scalp with his nails, which feels so good that Nasir has a hard time concentrating on his novel. He might start purring any minute.

“And you might have something to do with me staying as long as possible, too,” Agron adds and Nasir can hear the fond smile in his voice.

“Oh yeah?” Nasir turns his head and the tender look in Agron’s eyes makes his breath hitch. 

“ _Might_ , I said,” Agron says, grinning, which earns him a half-hearted slap against his belly. 

“You keep that up and Naevia will get your Christmas present.”

“Is that so?” Of course this is when the bastard starts scratching the soft skin behind Nasir’s ears.

“Hmmm, I’ll think about it,” Nasir all but moans. 

“Stop that or you won’t get to finish your book,” Agron tells him, his voice a little rough. Nasir leans into the caress and sighs, content. He likes Lazy Sundays with Agron. 

This morning he woke up to Agron’s pulling him close and tucking on the duvet because Nasir had been hoarding it as usual. Then a spit-slick hand worked his cock, waking Nasir up _properly_ , before Nasir opened Agron with lube-slick fingers and then fucked him, slow and deep, while plastered to his back, trying to get as close as humanly possible. Nasir kissed Agron’s back and kneaded his hips, thrusting into him, steady and intimate, taking Agron apart with his cock and his voice, until Agron grunted helplessly with every push. When he came undone, a shuddering mess and utterly blissed out, he groaned Nasir’s name into the pillow. Nasir pulled out and came on his back, loving the way it marked Agron’s skin, loving the claim it represented, loving that he was the first who was allowed to do this to Agron (the fucking, not the coming on his back, although maybe that, too, he didn’t ask). And then there was a long shower with Agron rimming Nasir into incoherence until they yelped and jumped when, abruptly, the hot water ran out. There was brunch at Nasir’s favourite café, a rainy walk back to Nasir’s flat, and now there is reading and head-scratching and Nasir makes contented noises – how could he not? 

Agron will be going home for the holidays, which is fine by Nasir because he has not properly celebrated Christmas since his grandmother stopped recognising him. On Boxing Day Nasir will unwrap Agron’s present and text him, loving whatever he gets because it’s from Agron and, yes, he is that sappy. And then he will visit his grandma in her caring home and speak to her even though she cannot hear him and may not know that he is there, and then he will have dinner by himself or with Cas, who has no family to speak of, either. 

“Nasir, are you…what are your plans for New Year’s?”

“Huh?” Nasir startles. The scratching intensifies and he leans back into the touch.

“New Year’s. What are your plans?”

“Oh, depends on whether Chadara swings an invitation to Hogmanay this year. She usually does though. Every year she and her pal, Auctus, rent a house near Edinburgh and they throw the best New Year’s parties. It’s a thing since uni, usually between twenty and thirty people. Why?”

“Nevermind then.”

“Agron!” Nasir warns. 

Agron huffs. “I haven’t booked a return flight yet. I wasn’t sure…”

Nasir turns around, his chin bearing down on Agron’s thigh, as he frowns up to him. “I thought you’d stay with your family. Especially since you’re going to go home rather late. I bet all the people on your course got the fuck out of here as soon as the term was over.”

“They don’t have …I’m going to miss you.”

Nasir smiles. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

Agron’s got his determined face on. “I would like to have you around for the obligatory New Year’s kiss. Duro’s sloppy.”

“Hmm. Have you ever been to Scotland?” 

Agron’s eyes widen in surprise. “Chadara doesn’t know me.”

“She will. She’s going to be here for the Christmas madness. It’s too much work for one person.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, you’d be up for it or okay, forget about it, or okay, you’ll be in Germany after all?”

Agron rolls his eyes and says, “I’d be up for it.” 

Nasir turns back onto his back, the smile on his face wide and happy. “Good.” And it is. Agron would rather spend New Year’s Eve with him than his family or his friends in Germany; that makes it good. It must _mean_ something.

 

_tbc_


End file.
